


Tabula Rasa Ad Aeternum

by kally77, Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-09
Updated: 2005-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 68,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kally77/pseuds/kally77, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goes AU after the S6 episode 'Tabula Rasa'. The memory crystal is never broken, and...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Alex!” Dawn cried out in alarm.

Willow and Tara both looked up horror from where they’d fallen to the ground together and gasped when the vampire rushed Alex. Dawn looked down at the wooden stake in her hands and, realizing the imminent danger, threw it.

And, for that one moment, it was as if pure instinct took over. Alex caught the stake Dawn had thrown his way and, before he even had a chance to think, had plunged it through the vampire’s heart.

He and Dawn both took a deep breath of relief and stumbled back from the battle. What neither of them noticed was the small black crystal that had fallen from Willow’s pocket. A final step backward, and Alex’s shoe kicked the small magical stone, knocking it back into a pile of leaves quite possibly never to be found again. One unintentional action that would change their lives forever…

* * *

And, across town, Joan staked her final foe with a rush of triumph. “Don’t mess with Joan the vampire slayer!” she proclaimed with a bright smile, offering the only vampire remaining a hand up.

A feeling of elation passed through them at their victory in their first fight together, even if the greater mystery of who they were and how they’d come to be this way remained. Randy’s cool fingers wrapped around hers, and he let her pull him to his feet. They stood impossibly close for a second, fingers reluctantly slipping from the other’s grasp.

Before Joan and Randy could share more than a grin, a shark-headed demon came up to them and shed some light on who – and what – they were.

“You’re an odd duck, Mister Spike,” he said, clearly addressing Randy. “Fighting your own kind…palling around with a Slayer. And whoa, that suit!”

The demon chuckled uneasily as Randy – no, Spike, that was what the demon had called him – glanced down at his attire and frowned.

“Uh, hey, look…” the demon continued after a second. “About our little debt problem, it’s okay, I don’t need the kittens.”

When it became clear that the demon was waiting for an answer, Spike nodded. He had no clue what all of this was about, but as long as the fighting stopped…

“Alright then,” he said, hopeful that it would be enough of an answer for the shark demon. He glanced at Joan, wondering what she thought of it all.

“Spike?” she questioned, trying the new name of her companion.

The newly re-Christened Spike couldn’t help but grin at that. “’S better than ‘Randy’. Can’t blame a bloke for pickin’ up a nickname, right?”

Joan merely rolled her eyes in response. “What’s he talking about?” she demanded, somewhat unreasonably. “You _know_ these people?” In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. Almost like she trusted Randy – _Spike_ , she corrected herself – not to be the one that caused her pain. She wondered if she always reacted to hurt this way, by preemptively lashing out.

He gave her an annoyed look. “Could be drinking pals with the bloody Queen of England for all we know, luv,” he shot back.

“The Queen of England isn’t chasing us around town trying to kill us!” Joan retorted defensively.

“Like you—” Spike began in retaliation.

A polite cough cut him off. They both turned in unison to see the very contrite-looking shark demon waving his hand…er, _flipper_ to catch their attention.

“You two are obviously…busy…” If it were possible for a demon with a shark’s head to look put out, he would have. “So, the debt’s clear? We’re cool?”

Spike looked to Joan. She shrugged. “Sure,” Spike answered, hoping he sounded remotely like he knew what was going on.

The two of them watched with some bafflement as the shark demon slipped between them and escaped into the night.

“Uh, were we supposed to kill him?” Joan wondered.

“Don’t look at me,” Spike retorted. “You’re the one who insists she’s the superhero. What would _you_ do?”

“I _am_ a superhero,” she said, crossing her arms as she glared at him. “So don’t take that tone with me, Mr. Vampire with a soul. Didn’t you hear how they all call me ‘Slayer’? I’m pretty sure that’s my code name or something.”

“Or something,” Spike repeated, clearly amused. “So what do you want to do now, Slayer?”

The title almost felt familiar as it rolled off his tongue, and Spike kept for himself the comment that it sounded much better than ‘Joan’.

“I don’t see any reason to change our plans,” Joan insisted. “Everyone‘s meeting us at the hospital.”

Spike looked sheepish at that and scratched uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “Not sure what they’re gonna think of me at the hospital, Slayer.”

She frowned at that. “Why…?”

He hadn’t noticed anything was unusual earlier, but now that he listened closely… “Feel for yourself.” He caught her hand in his once more and watched her eyes widen when he placed it over his heart.

Her palm slid over his shirt experimentally, but still nothing. “You don’t have a heartbeat,” she whispered, shocked.

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to react to the feel of her hot little hand caressing him. Slayer had absolutely no idea what she was doing to him. “’m thinking it might cause a stir at the hospital.”

Joan nodded, concerned. Belatedly, she realized that her hand seemed to have taken on a mind of its own and was exploring Spike’s chest muscles a bit too much to be purely innocent. “Back to that magic store?” she suggested, blushing horribly as she had to forcibly wrench her hand away from his body.

Spike couldn’t help but smirk when she looked down shyly, cheeks red and heart beating like an excited rabbit. “Whatever you say, ‘Joan the vampire slayer’,” he teased.

They started walking back toward the store they had left earlier, the silence heavier with each step. Joan was the first to break it, glancing sideways at Spike as she did. He was a vampire, and apparently she killed demons, but he had been at the store with all of them, and he hadn’t tried to kill anyone. Could she trust him? She really wanted to.

“So, you really are a good vampire, huh?”

She had found the idea of a souled vampire ridiculous earlier, and she still thought it was, but there had to be a reason why he fought by her side, as the shark demon had confirmed. A reason, also, for her not to slay him.

“Like I said,” he replied soberly, “not feeling like biting you.”

 _Not in the killing way at least_ , he finished in his mind.

“What about the others?” she prodded. “Dawn? Your father? The rest of them?”

“She’s a kid!” he protested, and Joan suppressed a sigh of relief at his apparent truthfulness. It would have been very sad to slay him before she even had a chance to know him better. “And why would I want to kill my father? Or any of them?”

She had a small shrug. “Because you’re a vampire?”

They had reached the store, and Spike rolled his eyes at Joan even as he held the door open for her.

“I’m a _good_ vampire, Slayer. Why won’t you…”

He noticed then the group assembled in the shop and staring at him, and the words died in his throat. The shock in his father’s eyes was especially painful.

* * *

With a blush and more than a little reluctance, Willow got up off of Tara. The other woman’s cheeks also burned as they brushed themselves off.

“Is everyone okay?” Willow asked, concerned.

She got several shaky nods in response.

“What’s running around in the sewers from a murderous vampire to…uh, whoever we are?” Alex joked.

Dawn managed a giggle, and Tara smiled.

“W-Which way was the hospital?” Tara asked shyly.

Alex gulped and looked down the ink-black corridor. “How ‘bout we go back into the shop and see if Joan and Randy have cleared out the front door yet?” he suggested.

“Sounds good.” “I’m cool with that.” “Dear Goddess, yes.”

Alex grinned at Willow’s response. “We’re cowards, but we’re alive. And proud of it.”

And with that final wisecrack, they turned back from whatever further dangers lay in the tunnel beyond…

They entered the library with exclamations of relief at being out of the sewers, which turned into polite coughs aimed at announcing their presence to the oblivious kissing couple.

Rupert and Anya separated with sheepish grins. Although her memory didn’t go father than an hour or so before, Dawn was quite sure she had never seen anything as disturbing as these two old people smooching like teenagers.

“Joan didn’t come back?” she asked, worried about her newfound sister.

Rupert shook his head. “No, we haven’t seen her or Randy since they left. Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

With wide gestures and a very slight exaggeration of his heroism, Alex narrated their adventures in the sewers.

“And so we thought we’d come back here,” he finished his tale. “Did you find a spell or something that could help us?”

Rupert and his fiancée shared a somewhat embarrassed look, and it was the latter who answered.

“We tried some spells,” she announced, and hope rose in the four others. “We are very proficient at summoning entities and evil animals. But we haven’t found anything about memory yet.”

Disappointed murmurs followed her words.

“Although,” Anya added, “I think it’s clear what’s to blame for all this.”

Expectant looks from the four sewer escapees and puzzlement from Rupert that his fiancée had come to the conclusion that evaded him.

“Do tell,” Rupert asked curiously.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Anya shivered. “It was the bunnies.”

Five _very_ blank stares.

“Bunnies?” Willow finally ventured incredulously.

Anya nodded confidently. “They were obviously sabotaging all our magical efforts to overcome our memory loss,” she insisted. “And, just upon seeing those furry little creatures,” she shivered and rubbed her arms, “I was filled with a impending sense of dread. I can’t remember why, but the only logical explanation is that the bunnies are the enemy. A sort of arch-nemesis, perhaps.” She smiled brightly now that the universe made sense once more.

Rupert blinked and removed his glasses. He found a well-worn cloth in his pocket, which had obviously been used for exactly this purpose on hundreds of occasions, and quickly took to scrubbing the lenses. “Then how did I remain oblivious to the, er, ‘impending sense of dread’?” he inquired.

Anya shrugged. “It’s because your memory’s faded more with age than mine.” She patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t feel bad, honey.”

Everyone else just watched her in stunned disbelief.

“Well, it _is_ a theory,” Tara pointed out diplomatically.

“We’ll consider it,” Rupert nodded, grateful to Tara’s apparent peace-keeping abilities, “although it would be wise to consider other possibilities, as well.”

Anya humphed but kept quiet. Sooner or later, the bunnies would attack again, and everyone would realize she was right.

 _“Uh…isn’t anyone going to point out that Anya’s crazy?”_ Dawn whispered quietly enough that only Willow could hear.

 _“It seems like the happy kind of crazy,”_ Willow whispered back. _“Just smile and nod for now.”_

 _“Oh, I am,”_ Dawn agreed, mind still staggering from Anya’s _unique_ theories.

“So,” Willow spoke aloud, “if magic doesn’t work and we can’t get out through the tunnels, what _do_ we do?”

Abandoning his pointless cleaning, Rupert cleared his throat. It seemed he was the oldest of them all, and as such he felt somewhat responsible for the younger people’s safety.

“We might still consider going to the hospital as was suggested earlier,” he mused out loud, “although I do not know that medicine could change anything for us.”

“Why not?” Dawn asked, the barest trembling of her voice betraying how upset she was. He smiled at her kindly, trying to sound reassuring despite the nature of his words. Her sister was out there, as was Rupert’s own son, and he could guess her fears quite easily.

“Demons and magic seem to be a part of our lives,” he explained, gesturing to the shop around them. “And I would suspect demons or magic will the key to the return of our memories, not pills or whatnot.”

The girl seemed about to cry, and once more Rupert was grateful to Tara when she wove a comforting arm around Dawn’s shoulders.

“We…we can still try the hospital,” she murmured. “Just in case, you know.”

There were sounds of assent, but it was clear that they were mostly for Dawn’s benefit.

“It might be better if we wait until daylight to go there, though,” Willow commented thoughtfully. “If these things are really vampires, they shouldn’t be around then, should they?”

Everyone looked to Rupert for confirmation as if instinctively knowing that he had all the answers. Rupert found it strangely disconcerting and remarkably familiar.

“If the legends are true,” he began, finding that he rather enjoyed exposition, “– and, given our current circumstances, I see no reason to believe they are not – daylight should, indeed, protect us from all vampires. In fact—“ he began, growing excited as he warmed to his topic.

But, at that moment, the bell over the door rang. They all turned expectantly, more than a little alarmed, but breathed a collective sigh of relief when the intruders proved to be Joan and Randy, returned.

The next words put an end to all illusion of comfort, however.

“I’m a _good_ vampire, Slayer,” Randy informed Joan, still oblivious to his audience. “Why won’t you…” He froze in surprise when he looked up to see the assembled crowd.

Fear, betrayal, and a hint of anger flashed through the minds of everyone in the room. But none more so than Rupert’s. Instinctively, his hand reached for the stake on the table. _Can it really be true? Is my own son…the enemy?_


	2. Chapter 2

Even before Spike stopped talking, Joan knew that they were going to have a problem; the wide eyes and shocked expressions were ample proofs of that, as were Rupert’s fingers closing tight on a stake.

She stepped forward, both hands raised in front of her, making sure to remain between Spike and the humans – were they even all humans? Should she check the pulse of each of them?

“All right, everybody calm down,” she said with a pointed look at Rupert’s hand. “Spike is a vampire, but he’s fighting on our side. No reason to get twitchy.”

“Twitchy?” Alex repeated in disbelief. “The walking dead have been inches from our tasty, succulent throats, and you’re telling us not to get ‘twitchy’?” A hint of panicked hysteria entered his voice.

Spike couldn’t help but snort at that. “Mighty high opinion of yourself you’ve got there,” he purred seductively, flashing a hint of teeth.

Rupert’s fingers tightened around the stake, and he took a step forward, just as Alex stumbled back.

“No one’s got a sense of humor?” Spike grumbled. Rupert took another step closer. “Oh bugger.” His eyes widened, and he made a strategic retreat – _which really is completely different from hiding_ , he assured himself – behind Joan.

Joan rolled her eyes at the hole Spike had dug himself into but continued to stand resolutely between father and son.

Rupert’s attention turned to his son’s defender. “Fighting on our side, you say?”

“He’s…” Joan winced even as she said it, “a vampire with a soul. He’s a good vamp.”

“That’s right,” Spike insisted, pointing vehemently to Joan.

Rupert looked at him skeptically. Still the same irritating son he’d remembered, after all. “How do we determine whether he is a good vampire?” he inquired wearily.

“Because,” Joan retorted confidently, “if he wasn’t on our side, there’s no way I wouldn’t have taken the excuse by now to stake him.” She nudged Spike back with her elbow from where he was not-so-subtly sniffing her hair. Spike may have been a major hottie, but he seemed to have no sense of appropriate timing whatsoever.

“Hey!” Spike protested, rubbing his ribs and backing off.

“And,” she continued, ignoring Spike as she pointed toward Rupert’s stake, “seeing how you’re reacting, there’s no way you wouldn’t have staked him before today if he was evil.”

Joan could see the instant when he relented, the slight shift in his position as he lowered the stake.

“Feeling the love, there, _dad_ ,” Spike muttered, even as Anya came to them, waving her hands excitedly.

“I know what must have happened!” she exclaimed, beaming. “Rupert and I must have done a spell to keep Randy…”

“Spike,” Joan and the vampire interjected at the same time, looking at each other in surprise at having spoken together. Spike’s lips curled up in a suggestive grin, and Joan promptly looked away.

“Spike?” Anya repeated, perplexed.

“’S my name, now,” Spike explained, his voice slightly challenging. “That’s what the demon out there called me. Suits me.”

Rupert rolled his eyes at that, clearly at the point of launching himself in a fatherly diatribe. Joan jumped back into the conversation before he could and asked to Anya:

“A spell, you were saying? You mean, to give him a soul?”

Anya shrugged. “That would be logical, seeing how we own a magic store and all…”

“So we really can trust him?” Dawn asked diffidently as she approached with the other members of the group.

Joan threw a glance at Spike before she answered. Until he proved her wrong, she really had no reason not to believe it was safe to be around him

“Yeah, we can trust him,” she finally said, moving on to the next topic before anyone could challenge her opinion. “We learned something else. I am the _Slayer_.”

“Still sounds like a washed up rock band,” Spike mumbled behind her.

Joan shot him a nasty look. “Like ‘Spike’ is any better?” she retorted. She gestured to his clothes. “You don’t even look like a Spike!”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Alex beat him to it. “A little help for the ‘banter challenged’ here?” All attention turned to him, and Spike retreated to the counter-top he’d awoken on hours before when this nightmare began. “What’s a ‘Slayer’?” Alex demanded.

Joan’s confident expression faltered. She looked to Spike for support, but he was busy checking his reflection – or, apparently, lack thereof – in the counter glass and muttering to himself.

“We’re…not exactly sure,” she admitted. “But I think it’s my superhero name. It’s what the vamps called me. And I get this…feeling…” She tried to put better words to it, but couldn’t. “Sort of a sense? That this ‘Slayer’ thing might help us figure out what’s going on.”

Rupert considered that thoughtfully. “Many vampire myths concern a slayer of some sort. Perhaps…” He looked around at the shelves of books and sighed in despair. “Perhaps if I could recall anything of my past, I would know if we possessed the relevant books.”

“We could help you look,” Willow offered, casting one last wary glance Spike’s way before shrugging her concerns off. For some odd reason, having a vampire around didn’t strike her as all that strange. What kind of lives had they been living, anyway?

Tara gave Willow a small smile and picked up the nearest book. “‘Autopsies of Dismembered North American Demon Victims’?” She gulped, and promptly put the book back down.

“I believe I saw more historical texts upstairs,” Rupert provided, leading the group of semi-reluctant researchers with him. He paused when he passed the counter and his son. “Er…no hard feelings?” he offered awkwardly.

Spike snorted. “Somethin’ tells me that wasn’t the first time we had that conversation.”

Rupert’s lips twitched slightly. “Indeed,” he agreed, accepting the return to their somewhat bizarre previous relationship.

Spike continued to sit.

And Rupert sighed with exasperation and grabbed his son by the arm, pulling him along for the research. Spike spared one last vain glance at the glass before looking to Dawn hopefully.

“I look like a ‘Spike’, right?”

She rolled her eyes and took in his outfit. “You look like a dork.” He finally gave in and let Rupert pull him along. _A dork with a really cute butt_ , she added in her head, watching him walk away.

Her view was quickly disrupted when her sister stepped into her line of vision, gave Dawn a pointed look, and then proceeded to watch Spike’s behind in her place.

Dawn sighed. She was beginning to get very used to the feeling that they’d had all these conflicts hundreds of times before…

* * *

Rupert found books that might have been relevant and assigned a couple of them to each member of the group, and they were soon scattered around the room, each of them reading with various degrees of interest.

Joan became quite suspicious when she noticed that Dawn, who had previously seemed ready to fall asleep, was now apparently enraptured by what she was reading. Standing from her seat at the table under the pretext of stretching, she got a closer look at what her sister was engrossed in.

“‘The Mating Rituals of Vampires and Other Half-Breed Demons’?” she screeched, horrified, as she snatched the offending book from her blushing sister. “Rupert!”

Alex, who had dozed off, practically jumped up at the noise; Anya continued to sleep through the exclamation; the other women were merely startled. Spike slid off his perch on the counter and came closer, clearly curious. He had spent the last hour practicing slipping in and out of his vampire features, Joan had noticed. Not that she had been looking at him or anything.

Rupert, who had been walking around the room as he read, raised his eyes from a thick volume and looked at her.

“What? You found something?”

She swatted Spike’s hand as he tried to take the book from her, and glared at him before shifting the same annoyed glare to his father.

“Aside from the fact that you gave the vampire Kama Sutra to my kid sister?”

“I’m not a kid,” Dawn protested, while Rupert’s eyes widened and he made various noises of contrition.

This was ridiculous, she thought tiredly. They didn’t even know what they were looking for. She wanted to go home, and get a good night of sleep, and maybe everything would be back to normal when she woke up. But what was ‘normal’, exactly? And where was her home?

“Did anyone find anything?” she asked the assembled group with a tired sigh. Her gaze paused pointedly on the blonde still sleeping in the corner chair. “Anya?” she demanded loudly.

“Huh?” The other woman woke up with a surprised blink. “What?”

“Did you find anything?” Willow repeated, sympathetic to Anya’s nap.

“Oh…” Anya started at the pages before her. “‘In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer’,” she read aloud.

Everyone groaned in unison.

“Thanks ever so for hiding the relevant book,” Spike commented with a put-upon sigh, shoving away the tome his father had shoved into his hands…and reaching casually for the book with the naughty pictures which Dawn had been forced to cast aside.

With a familiar frustrated feeling, Rupert took the book from Anya. “Yes, I suppose the word ‘Vampyr’ written across the cover in large letters might have been a clue,” he sighed before skimming over the text.

Everyone tried to wait patiently. ‘Tried’ being the operative word.

Anya yawned and rested her head on her arms again. Willow sighed and allowed herself to slump to one side, starting and blushing when she realized she was leaning on Tara. The two of them ducked their eyes simultaneously.

Spike was getting rather engrossed in some of the positions he was looking at. He noticed Dawn and Alex trying to peer over his shoulders, and quickly inched away. Not before Joan caught on to what he was up to, however.

She gave him an irritated look and held out one hand. He merely smirked and handed her the book, open and facing so that she could see the page he’d turned to.

Joan’s eyes widened at the picture. _Is that even possible?_ she wondered, looking to Spike and blushing when she realized that when she looked at the picture, it was _him_ she was seeing doing all those naughty things…

Trying to hide her embarrassment, she turned her attention back to Rupert. “Have you found anything that can help us?” she asked hopefully.

“’Ve found something that’ll help me get sweet dreams, yeah,” Spike whispered, so low that Joan was sure she was the only one who had heard him. She ignored both him and the fire in her cheeks, and concentrated instead on his father.

“Well, this seems to describe…”

Rupert’s voice trailed off as he became lost in his reading, flipping through pages and stopping here and there.

“Describe what?” Alex inquired, and the way he inched closer to Rupert made Joan wonder if he was hoping for another X-rated book.

“Hmm? Oh…sorry,” Rupert said, noticing the impatient looks they were all throwing at him. “It describes what the Slayer is exactly, and how she fights various demons. Apparently, she is supervised by a…Watcher.”

Once more, he started going through the pages, reading here and there, forgetting again, it seemed, that they were waiting for his input.

“And?” Joan finally interjected, fighting back a yawn of her own.

Rupert blinked up at her, as if surprised to find them all still present and waiting. “It chronicles an ancient tradition of mentorship, stemming from—”

“Dad?” Spike cut him off.

Rupert sighed. “Yes?” He gave his son the Evil Fatherly Look Of Death over the rims of his glasses. It had no effect whatsoever. Apparently, Spike had become immune over the years.

“Anything ‘bout mass memory loss and how to undo it?” Spike demanded.

Rupert looked sheepish at that. “Not as yet, no,” he apologized. “However, there is a fascinating discussion of—”

“Rupes?” Spike broke in again.

Rupert shuddered. “Never call me that again, _Randy_ ,” he added pointedly.

“Gladly.” Spike shrugged the incident away. “But it seems to me that we’re just runnin’ round in circles here.”

“We’re trying to find out what happened to us,” Joan insisted, arms crossed in front of her chest defiantly.

Spike rolled his eyes heavenward. “Yeah, ‘trying’,” he agreed sarcastically. “You people have a new theory every five minutes.” He affected a horrible girly American accent. “‘Oh, we have to get to the hospital.’ ‘Let’s try a spell.’ ‘No, wait, let’s bore everyone stiff by making them read the outdated prose of stodgy twits.’ ‘Here, let’s lecture everyone on pointless information Rupert’s keen on.’”

Joan’s face flushed. “I do _not_ talk like that!” she insisted vehemently. The confident look faded from her face. “Er, do I?” she asked anxiously.

Willow, Alex, and Tara shook their heads in a reassuring way. Dawn nodded in vigorous agreement of Spike’s impression and tried not to giggle.

Fortunately, Joan had already returned to the battle with her annoying vampire partner in crime-fighting. “So what do you suggest we do, Mr. Smarty-Pants?” she countered. Even as she said it, she was mentally slapping herself for the lame insult. But it was really hard to think with him standing so close and being so enraged and gorgeous and… _Focus!_ She shook herself back on track.

“I suggest,” he began pointedly, “’s no good makin’ things worse while we’re sorting ‘em out. In case you hadn’t noticed, luv, your tribe’s about to collapse from exhaustion. Could take a good long while to get everyone settled for the evenin’. That, and we’ve presumably all got lives to take care of.” He seemed to suddenly remember that he wasn’t exactly alive. “Or, at least, you lot do…” he amended, a wistful tone to his voice.

Rupert watched his son throughout the speech, impressed. Frankly, he’d been beginning to wonder whether _any_ of his obvious intelligence and charm had been passed to the younger generation. Although, in all fairness, Randy still seemed to be entirely lacking in the charm department. Or…

Joan had caught the sadness in Spike’s voice and, so casually that it almost seemed natural, reached out to gently caress the back of his hand where it rested on the table. A blush lit up her cheeks, and Spike ducked his head, a shy smile on his face.

Perhaps not _entirely_ lacking in charm, Rupert amended his opinion. Aloud, he spoke. “It’s rather a good idea, actually.”

“We can go home?” Alex breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Spike. “Okay, any problems I had about the vamp thing? All gone if you can just get us out of this library,” he joked.

A small smile crossed Spike’s lips at that as well.

Rupert was in full rationalizing mode by now. “We certainly can’t drop all the balls while we research our dilemma. Some of us are bound to have jobs, schoolwork, and other obligations.”

“School?” Willow squealed in horror. “W-What if we’ve got tests? I can’t take anything! And it’s not my fault that I’ve forgotten the material!” She felt like she was about to hyperventilate. She couldn’t remember any of her recurring nightmares, but she was suddenly confident that many of them involved the letter ‘F’.

“We can all call in sick,” Tara reassured her, laying one hand over Willow’s in a similar comforting gesture to the one Joan had used on Spike. “We just need to find out where to call first. Right, Rupert?”

“Quite right,” Rupert agreed.

“Let’s go, then,” Joan decided, in take-charge mode once more.

And, despite the general tiredness, it took only an instant for all of them to come out of the store, and they waited patiently as Anya tried, one after the other, the many keys in her possession until she had found the one that locked the store. Rupert had taken the ‘Vampyr’ volume, explaining to whoever was interested that he intended to do some light reading once they had found where they lived.

But none of them could help but wonder, as they smiled and yawned, whether they would ever really know ‘home’ again with no memories of these lives they were just rediscovering…


	3. Chapter 3

Joan breathed a sigh of relief when she settled into the back seat of Rupert’s car. Truly, Tara was a genius for looking up the address of the Magic Box in the yellow pages. Rupert, Alex, Willow, and Tara had all found addresses on various forms of ID, but – probably due to exhaustion – they’d stood around complaining that they couldn’t get anywhere if they didn’t know where they were. Hence, Tara’s genius.

Some even greater genius – this one of the marketing kind – had included one of those miniature maps, highlighting the store’s location, in the yellow pages ad. Rupert and Anya were currently both insisting that they’d been the one to come up with it. Loudly.

It was a good thing Alex and Willow would be leading their little procession of discovery from his 4x4, Dawn and Tara in tow.

“Don’t tell me ‘m losing your delightful company so soon, Slayer,” Spike said way too cheerfully, leaping over the back door gracefully and landing in the seat beside her.

She sighed. Her hormones didn’t need this. But then his thigh brushed hers oh-so-accidentally, and she figured this wasn't so bad after all…

The engine revved to life.

“Alex’s place first, then,” Rupert announced.

Joan tried to keep her mind on the road, as the car passed streets she certainly used to know. Maybe something, a detail, would be the needed spark that would bring all her memories back to the surface.

But it was rather difficult to concentrate when, with every turn Rupert made, she and Spike drifted closer and closer to each other. She was acutely aware of every inch of her that was in contact with him. Aware, also, of his arm thrown on the back of the seat behind her.

She couldn’t wait for the ride to end. And at the same time, she didn’t want it to.

That was, until she noticed Spike’s constant fiddling with his clothes was getting a bit…revealing…

“What are you doing?” she demanded when his arm settled back on the seat behind her, jacket now removed and shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“You were the one complainin’ ‘Spike’ doesn’t fit, Slayer,” he practically purred, the fingers of his free hand drifting to that silly pink bowtie that made her snicker every time she looked at it. “Just remedying the problem.”

Long, strong fingers slipped skillfully through the silk tie, slid sensuously around the soft fabric, and then – with a powerful yank – bared his pale throat to her hungry gaze.

Joan gulped. It shouldn’t be possible for anything involving a dorky-looking bowtie to be sexy. She felt the sudden urge to shift in her seat but fought it. No _way_ was she letting him know how much he affected her.

Mischievous blue eyes remained riveted on her face while his hand drifted lower, found the top button...

 _POP!_

Joan licked her lips and decided it would be a really good idea to look somewhere that wasn’t at him. She leaned forward and tried to pick up on Rupert and Anya’s conversation. Something about bunnies and world domination. Huh.

She yawned, and her mind drifted, and all too inevitably she could see in her mind’s eye each little white button on Spike’s shirt as it popped open, baring his perfect, muscular chest for her, if only she’d stop being stubborn and take a look.

And, oh, was she grateful in that moment for her persistent stubbornness.

* * *

Alex had to restrain himself not to go over the speed limit as he followed the directions Willow gave him to his place. His own place. Or so he supposed. And hoped. It would be terribly disappointing to find out that he still lived with his parents or something.

But no, that couldn’t be. He had a car, which had to mean that he could afford one, which had to mean that he had a job, which had to mean that he had a place to live in. Simple and pure logic. The same evident logic that had proved that Willow was his girlfriend. And there too, he was a lucky man. She was pretty. And she seemed to be smart. Everything he had ever wanted in a woman.

Or at least, everything he supposed he had ever wanted.

He turned to her at a red light, smiling. She was smiling too, and he noticed that she had a beautiful smile. It must have been one of the things that had made him fall for her.

Except…

It would have been even nicer if she had been smiling at him rather than at Tara and Dawn behind them.

* * *

Spike sighed and slumped back in his seat. Joan had a way of taking the fun out of his little striptease. Of course, he’d have been disappointed if she'd just sat there and drooled like some silly, love-struck bird. He was beginning to develop a sneaking suspicion he had a definite thing for strong, willful, feisty women. Made the eventual submission so much sweeter…

“Oh, learn to drive, you twat!” Rupert snapped as Alex slammed the brakes in front of him.

Spike had given up and decided to behave. Really, he had. But the car jerked violently with the sudden stop, and before he knew what was happening, he found his arms full of pretty blonde Slayer.

Joan blushed and clutched at his arms for balance as equilibrium returned to the universe. Or maybe it hadn't because why else would the world be so shaky?

Spike smiled softly and suddenly, at the prospect of Joan’s hot little hands accidentally brushing the bare skin of his chest, felt surprisingly shy about the whole thing. He ducked his head and tried to wet his lips to say something, but…

“Apparently, we’re here,” Rupert commented, sounding rather annoyed as the occupants of the other vehicle disembarked.

And Joan just blushed and took the opportunity to escape.

A sigh and a groan at the leftover tingling sensation where she’d touched him, and Spike followed after. Time to do a bit more of that exploring.

Joan had intended to put some distance between Spike and her. She truly had. She needed to get a grip on herself, too much was going on for her to let herself be distracted by a man – however yummy that man may look.

But as the two groups came out of their respective cars and merged again, she found herself walking by the vampire’s side once more, and couldn’t exactly regret it. After all, being near him allowed her to elbow him when he made one too many snide remarks about Alex’s driving.

A flight of stairs, a little fumbling with keys, and Alex pushed open the door of his apartment. He was the first to enter, a wide grin splitting his face, and the rest of the group followed. Until…

“What the bloody hell!”

They all looked back to see Spike banging with closed fists…on absolutely nothing.

“Will you stop playing and get in?” Joan demanded impatiently.

“And what do you think I’m trying to do?” he snapped back. “I can’t get in!”

The exploration of the flat forgotten, they all watched him as he continued to try to force his way through thin air.

“Does that mean we’re trapped in?” Willow asked suddenly, her voice coming close to panic.

There was only one way to know. Joan stepped to the door, and slowly reached out. Her hand effortlessly crossed the threshold right where Spike had just been pummeling whatever was stopping him. She was startled when he caught her hand in his.

“Oookay,” Joan blinked, still too surprised and confused to react to the feel of his strong fingers curled around hers. Well, maybe she noticed just a little bit. “Try again?” she suggested to Spike.

He pressed his hand forward, still felt the barrier. Joan tried to help pull him in, but it felt like an insurmountable weight pulled against her the instant his hand tried to pass the threshold.

“That’s…weird,” Willow said, wide-eyed, passing her hand back through the doorway just to make sure.

“Any theories?” Joan asked.

Rupert frowned. “The most obvious difference between Spike and ourselves is that he is a vampire.”

“Maybe a protective spell to keep vampires out?” Tara suggested.

“That seems plausible,” Rupert agreed.

“Great.” Spike rolled his eyes and leaned forward pointedly on the invisible barrier. “You lot have fun playin’ in the apartment while I make my own fun in the hallway.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his words.

“Hey, Willow?” Alex called out, returning to the living room from where he'd been exploring the rest of his apartment during the Spike incident. “I think I found—” He blinked at where Spike seemed to be hovering in thin air right outside his door. “You’re not coming in, why?” he demanded incredulously.

Whatever mechanism governed invite rules apparently decided that was enough. With a yelp of sudden horror, Spike fell through the broken barrier and collapsed on Alex’s floor.

Alex looked down at him in disbelief. “Am I missing something?” he asked, confused.

Rupert had removed his glasses and was scrubbing at the lenses. “Nothing that cannot wait for later,” he assured Alex, watching Spike as he cautiously sat up to make sure that he wasn’t trapped inside now. “You were saying?” he turned back to Alex once more.

“I’ve found Willow’s clothes,” Alex resumed his previous train of thoughts with a bashful smile toward his girlfriend.

Willow’s eyes widened even as her cheeks took a deep red tint to match her hair.

“My…my clothes?” she stuttered. “So, I guess that means…”

Her voice trailed off as Alex came closer. He finished the thought for her.

“Looks like we live together, yeah.”

There was a brief pause as everyone watched the two of them reach for each other’s hand like timid children. Everyone save Spike, who had walked to the TV, picked up the remote, and was now going from channel to channel in search of God only knew what. Rupert threw him an annoyed look before clearing his throat.

“Right. So, you two live here. Any clue about anything else? What you do for a living, Alex, maybe?”

He waved a sheet of paper proudly before him. “No clue. But, hey, I found the number for work right by the phone. Who thinks I can call in sick without making my boss think I’ve gone nuts?”

Spike rolled his eyes and frowned at some late night talk show. “’ll bet against.”

Alex gave him a haughty look. “Just for that, you don’t get to crash on my couch,” he insisted, heading back to the bedroom to try to make his call.

Willow followed cautiously after to check out her apparent new apartment.

Dawn yawned and sat down on the couch next to Spike. Joan smiled and stroked her sister's hair. “Maybe we should move on,” she suggested. “I think we’re all getting pretty tired.”

Anya gave Joan an approving look. “Finally some sanity,” she agreed, jabbing Rupert pointedly in the ribs where he was once more engrossed in his ‘light reading’.

He sighed and closed the tome. “I suppose if Alex and Willow are settled in, there’s no reason we can’t move onward.”

Spike stood at these words, stretching his arms and back, and noticed the looks his display of a little too much skin brought him. Reprobation from his father, but he shrugged that one off. Interest from both Anya and Dawn, and these two glances sent a shiver down his back. A kid and his prospective stepmother? Icky. Joan’s appreciative look however…

He gave her what he supposed was his best smirk, and the color in her cheeks was suddenly more pronounced. Before he could follow through with a few well-chosen words however, she strode out of the room and after Alex and Willow, muttering something about cars. She came back, triumphant, with Alex’s car keys.

“There’s no way we’d all fit in Rupert’s car,” she explained. “So Alex agrees to lend us his until tomorrow.”

From the very start, Spike had a bad feeing about Joan driving. He didn’t know why, maybe it was an impression left by his departed memories, but he was quasi certain that the Slayer plus a car was bound to equal in badness. His efforts to get the keys from her, however, remained fruitless. All he managed to do was make sure Dawn and Tara rode with his father and Anya, where they would be safe.

Of course, it was a complete coincidence that it left him alone with Joan.

* * *

“Watch out, you crazy bint!”

Spike flinched and covered his eyes as the 4x4 accelerated toward the garbage bin. He wondered if vampires could die in car crashes. He wondered if these few minutes alone with Joan had been worth his imminent destruction. He wondered if, when his life flashed before his eyes, he’d get lucky and get a sneak preview of some of the stuff he couldn’t remember right now.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” Joan scolded him, jerking the wheel to the side just in time. With a screech of tires, the car came to a halt, one wheel teetering precariously atop the curb. “And ‘bint’ better not mean anything bad,” she scowled.

He gulped, opened his eyes, and stared at the street light only inches in front of the car's bumper. “That’s it,” he insisted. “ _I’m_ driving.”

“Oh, like a vampire will be any better,” Joan huffed, unwilling to admit to the mortal peril she’d put them both in.

At the mention of the vampire thing, Spike’s face slumped and he looked up at her with the saddest kicked puppy-dog eyes in the world.

“I’m so sorry,” she hastily backtracked. “Here, you can drive.” She pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them to him. “I didn’t mean to bring up—”

The instant the keys were in his hand, however, the hangdog expression vanished and he grinned wickedly at her.

Joan’s eyes widened in horror. “Evil vampire!” she accused, pointing. “Y-You tricked me!”

He leaned forward to place a quick kiss on the tip of her pointing finger. “Gotcha, luv,” he teased, getting out of the passenger side. “Now let’s find this place of Tara’s.”

Joan grumbled but got out, trying to ignore the distinct tingling where his lips had brushed her finger. She spent the rest of the drive in stubborn silence, grousing inwardly about devious vampires and their big blue eyes that melted her heart.

Spike whistled when they pulled to a stop behind Rupert’s red Penismobile. “Nice place,” he commented, looking up at the house.

Joan couldn’t help but nod. “Let’s go,” she said, getting out, “before you drive me _completely_ out of my mind.”

And Spike just grinned and followed after. “Knew you loved me, Slayer,” he teased.


	4. Chapter 4

Tara entered the house first, and was followed by Dawn, Joan, Rupert and Anya. They all walked farther in, oblivious to the fact that Spike was lingering at the door. Joan was the first to realize he hadn’t followed them, and she came back to him.

“What are you waiting for?”

“What if I can’t get in like before?”

Joan rolled her eyes at him and grabbed his wrist.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try, now, will you?” she said as she pulled him forward.

The crash he expected didn’t come, and he ended up close – very close – to Joan. Her eyes widened a little, and for the first time he noticed her heartbeat, going so fast, faster than had to be normal. Her hand was still on his wrist, and that simple contact was sending shivers down his back. Without allowing himself to think, he slowly leaned toward her.

“Joan, look what I found!” Dawn exclaimed, causing Joan to turn abruptly and completely miss Spike’s…whatever.

Spike assured himself inwardly that he hadn’t been about to try anything serious. Just a bit more teasing. Really.

“What is it?” Joan asked her sister, taking the photograph that was practically shoved into her hands. She blinked at it in disbelief for a few seconds. “It’s…us…” she breathed in surprise.

“I found it on the mantle,” Dawn announced proudly. “There are a whole bunch of us. I think we live here, too.”

Joan couldn’t help but smile at that. It was such a relief to finally have a home again.

“I guess maybe we all bought this place together?” Tara ventured, studying a couple of the mantel pictures that were of her and Willow. “Since I doubt any of us could afford it alone…” She trailed off with an embarrassed blush.

“Quite logical,” Rupert agreed.

With newfound purpose, Joan began exploring her home, fingertips running over various objects and wondering what significance they'd had in her previous life.

And Spike, admitting reluctantly to himself that he was already well and truly smitten, followed after.

“So, this is your home,” he commented as he looked at the row of pictures on the mantle, and noticed the ‘duh’ look that the Slayer threw at him.

“Well, I find it interesting that I had no trouble getting in,” he continued. “Proves once and for all that I’m a good vamp, if you trust me in here.”

He waited until Dawn and Rupert had moved on into the next room and then walked closer to her, adding quietly enough that only Joan would hear:

“Makes me wonder just how far exactly you…”

“Bedrooms!”

Anya’s exclamation startled them both, and Joan took this opportunity to escape, following the others up the stairs. They all entered the first room, now cramped, and tried to decide whom it belonged to.

“Plush toys and butterflies on the walls,” Joan described as she picked up a little pig, “I’d bet this is yours, Dawn.”

Spike scowled at the boy band poster on one wall, took a sniff of the various feminine items on the dresser, and grinned. “Figure the li’l one for the girliness, right luv?”

Dawn sulked slightly that The Hottest Man Alive...er, _Undead_ (TM) had called her a ‘li’l one’ and even more so at the insinuation that this kiddie room was hers.

“Seems like the best bet,” Joan agreed, arms crossed over her chest.

“Care to make odds on that wager?” he taunted her.

She frowned. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “Whose—”

He picked up the over-sized pajama shirt and rubbed the fabric sensuously against his cheek. “Sweet scent of Slayer,” he teased.

Joan’s eyes widened in disbelief for a second. And then outrage that he was sniffing her clothes. “Gimme that!” she demanded, lunging across the room to snatch her (she supposed) precious pajamas away from him.

He grinned and let her tackle him back onto the mattress before he released the garment, watched that moment of realization on her face when she finally noticed she had him pinned down on her bed.

Joan’s face flushed a deep red. She wasn’t quite sure what proper vampire slayers did, but she was willing to bet it didn’t involve straddling vampires in the bedroom. Her mortification was interrupted, however, by Dawn’s amused giggle.

“‘Buffy’?” her sister exclaimed in disbelief.

Joan scrambled off the bed – off Spike – almost forgetting her PJs in her haste to get away from him. She glared as he lounged on the bed, stretching like a big cat, hands now under his head. But as he smirked at her, she decided the best possible answer was to ignore him, however hard that may be.

“What did you find?” she asked Dawn, looking over her sister’s shoulder at the book – no, the journal – in her hands.

“‘This diary is the property of Buffy Summers’,” Dawn read. “‘So hands off. And that means your hands, Dawn.’”

The youngest sister laughed even as Joan-Buffy grabbed the diary.

“Buffy?” Rupert said, his tone clearly questioning the name.

She shot him a death glare cold enough to freeze the blood in his veins.

“It’s a nickname, obviously,” she insisted. “And it’s not like your name, or your son’s, are any better.”

Anya patted Rupert’s shoulder in a comforting manner as he sputtered indignantly; Spike on his part didn’t react, having apparently fallen asleep. Buffy ignored them as she quickly looked through the diary. Maybe she would find clues about what had happened to them and their memories…

“What’s today’s date?” she asked absently as she read bits and pieces of what had to have been her life.

“There was a calendar at the store,” Tara supplied helpfully. “It…It showed November 12th, 2001.”

Coming to the very last entry, not even halfway through the journal, Buffy frowned. It was dated from April 2001. She sat down on the edge of the bed, shoving at Spike’s legs impatiently to make room for herself.

Spike woke with a start. “What’d I miss?”

“Buffy!” Dawn snickered.

Buffy scowled at her. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason behind it,” she insisted, blushing slightly. She was starting to miss Joan…

“I believe the journal may provide more relevant information,” Rupert sighed wearily.

Spike curled his tongue up beneath his teeth and grinned at Buffy.

“Don’t. Even. Say it,” she warned coldly.

He held his hands up, blue eyes wide with innocence.

She gave him a suspicious look and turned back to the journal. “There’s nothing here…” she sighed.

“Oh no?” Spike had curled up around her and was peering over her shoulder. “Let’s have a look-see.” He snatched the journal from her hands.

“Do you have some problem keeping your hands to yourself?” she demanded, hands on hips.

He looked her body up and down, winked, and flipped to a random blank page. “ Oh, that Spike Giles is so very dreamy’,” he affected a girly accent, pretending to read, “‘I just want to jump his hot naked bod and ride him all night.’”

Buffy’s face flushed because, really, with him lying back on her bed and his shirt all open and revealing salty yumminess, such thoughts hadn’t been far from her mind.

Fortunately, Rupert stepped in to the rescue. “Yes, let’s all pretend we’re thirteen. That will certainly solve the riddle of our lost memories.”

Spike sulked but gave Buffy her journal back.  
“I’ll read it tomorrow,” she promised. “After a good night of sleep. Look for hints or anything that could help.”

 _When I’m alone_ , she added silently. It could certainly be a little embarrassing if she had indeed written things about Spike.

“Of course,” Rupert agreed with a nod. “No sense in trying to decipher clues when we’re all exhausted.”

Right on cue, Anya yawned, and Buffy felt her jaw twitch in sympathy. “So let’s move,” the woman suggested. “We still have to find where we will sleep tonight.”

They all walked out of the bedroom. All save Spike, that was. He had flopped back down on the bed, grabbing a pillow and burrowing his face in it. After unsuccessfully calling his name twice, Buffy reentered the room – her room – and poked at his ribs with a not too gentle finger.

“Rupert and Anya are leaving,” she announced as calmly as she could when he popped an eye open.

“And?” he drawled.

“And so are you,” she insisted.

“Am not. ‘M sleeping here.”

As if to demonstrate, he rubbed his cheek against the pillow.

“You are most certainly _not_ sleeping here! This is my bed!”

 _God! Is he always such a pain in the ass?_

He ignored her last words, and that was the last straw. Scowling, she grabbed the pillow and tugged it from under his head. He must have been expecting it, because he held on to it and tugged back, sitting up in the process. A tugging battle ensued, accompanied with increasingly loud protests from Buffy and snarky comments from Spike. It ended without winner at a pointed cough from Rupert, standing by the open door.

“So, you’ve regressed to being five, now?”

Buffy blushed and looked over her shoulder at Rupert, still loosely holding the pillow. “Spike was just getting ready to leave,” she assured him, trying to sound as mature as possible while having a tug-of-war fight with a vampire.

Rupert winced at that. “We may have a small problem there,” he informed them.

They both frowned.

Rupert removed his glasses for repolishing and gestured to the window with one hand. “Unless virtually all vampire legends are completely false upon this point, I believe it would be ill-advisable for Spike to venture outdoors.”

Spike turned to see the first faint light tingeing the horizon a light orange. Suddenly, and as if to confirm the fact, an uncomfortable tingling ran down the back of his neck. A sudden rush of fear that warned him to seek shelter. “Legends aren’t wrong,” he provided. “I can feel the dawn…”

Buffy’s expression instantly turned worried, and she leapt off the bed to rush to the window, drawing the blinds shut. “W-Will he be okay here?” she asked, half-panicked. “I mean, what if he needs a coffin or something?” Apparently concern had completely blocked out her earlier objections to Spike staying there. For the moment.

“Not to worry, Slayer,” Spike retorted, tucking the pillow back under his head and shimmying his body back and forth a bit to get more comfortable. “Get the feelin’ all I need’s a little shade and a comfy bed. Some beautiful company wouldn’t hurt, either.”

Buffy gave him the Evil Glare Of Death and kicked at his feet. “You’re getting the bedspread dirty,” she complained.

Self-satisfied smirk in place, he kicked off his boots before wiggling his toes into the comforter. No socks, apparently.

Buffy couldn’t help but lick her lips. She suddenly had the image of herself crawling up the bed, taking that big toe of his into her mouth, and sucking hard. She wondered if he’d moan with pleasure while she massaged his feet. She wondered…

 _Gee, I wonder if he’s got a foot fetish the way I seem to_ , Sarcastic!Voice cut off her little fantasy. She blushed and turned back to Rupert.

Anya was with him now, looking put out. “See? They’re obviously waiting for us to leave to have sex. Let’s just go already.” She tugged pointedly on Rupert’s arm, dragging him away from the bedroom.

On that horrified note, Rupert was forced to shout back at them. “We’ll meet again at the Magic Box at, say, six o’clock this evening. And, er… _Spike_ ," he still rolled his eyes at his son’s nickname, “do take care to remain out of direct sunlight.”

“Love you too, dad,” Spike semi-teasing voice shot after his father.

Buffy and Spike winced as they heard Rupert yanked down the stairs, heard the front door slam, and the engine start outside.

“So,” Spike finally said, “looks like we get to be bunkmates after all.”

* * *

Even as Anya provided him with directions toward their home, Rupert could only wonder. Everything that was happening was so extraordinary… Collective memory loss. Vampires. A super hero in the form of short young woman. A son. A son nicknamed Spike. A son nicknamed Spike with a slight allergy to sunlight and a human soul in a vampire body. A son who apparently…

He glanced toward Anya.

“Do you really think they were about to…”

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even think it. He had of course no memories of Randy as a child, but he was sure that his son was still a kid in his eyes. The idea that he may be with a woman _like that_ was quite simply disturbing.

“Do I think what?” Anya asked when he didn’t complete his thought.

Rupert swallowed heavily, and this time avoided looking at his fiancée.

“Do you think they were going to…sleep together?”

She made a little snorting noise. “Haven’t you noticed how they’ve been flirting all night long?”

As a matter of fact, no, he had not noticed, but then he had been a little busy trying to come up with answers to the too many questions their situation had created. Whether his son would sleep alone or with company was hardly on his top five list.

“They barely know each other,” he muttered nonetheless. “It really should be wisest for him to wait to know her before he…”

“There we are! Turn right there.”

Now silent, Rupert complied with the directions of his navigator, slightly hurt that she wasn’t more receptive to his fatherly concern. But then, Anya proved that she had indeed been listening.

“What if they were together before all of that started?” she suggested matter-of-factly. “Maybe they just know they belong together like I know I belong with you.”

With that, she leaned in to press a hard kiss to his mouth, and before he could blink she was out of the car.

“So, which one is our home sweet home?” she asked too cheerfully as she looked toward the condos.

Giles studied his license and glanced at the numbers before gesturing to the appropriate unit. Anya stifled a yawn, rubbing at her arms for warmth in the cool morning air as he unlocked the condo.

She entered with a breeze before coming to an abrupt halt. “I actually let you get away with keeping that lamp in our home?” she asked in disbelief.

Rupert sighed and set his book down of the living room table, shutting and locking the front door. “I’m sure it’s a family heirloom.”

“It that British for ‘ugly’?” she asked curiously, poking her nose through various doors. All other options failed, she climbed the stairs. “Oh, thank god,” she sighed in relief, “bed.”

Rupert followed her up and blushed when she immediately began removing her clothes, pulling her sweater and blouse over her head. He quickly looked away the instant he could see her bra. Oh dear, this felt so…inappropriate…

Anya just rolled her eyes, shimmying out of her skirt and climbing into bed. “Oh, for crying out loud, we’re engaged. We’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“This?” Rupert’s voice practically squeaked, and he didn’t know if it was fear or anticipation.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Anya assured him with a yawn, “but I really am too tired to enjoy the hours of monkey-sex we undoubtedly enjoy on a regular basis. Now come to bed.” She patted the place beside her.

Rupert slowly undressed as well, although he was grateful to find pajamas for the night…well, technically _day_ now. He knew that deep inside he loved Anya, but it had still been a shock just how comfortable she was around him. Finally ready for bed, he slipped in beside her, only to find her already snoring and asleep.

Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, he removed his glasses and settled in to sleep. And, despite the predicament of their memory loss and lingering uncertainty about how well he’d taught his son that discretion was, at times, the better part of valor, he found himself more tired than even he had imagined.

Holding his fiancée close, he drifted into a blissful sleep…

* * *

“We do have a couch downstairs,” Buffy pointed out.

Spike sighed. “Want me gone that badly, do you, luv?”

He sounded so suddenly serious, then, forlorn almost, that she bit her lip. “We kinda just met,” she pointed out reluctantly. The frightening part was that so very much of her wanted to jump into bed with him. She wasn’t the kind of girl to just jump into bed with anybody – or, at least, she didn’t _think_ she was – so maybe that meant that they’d been…close before and, deep down inside, some part of her remembered that.

Spike smiled softly, surprisingly her with just how sweet he looked. “Feel like ‘ve known you all my life,” he responded, sounding almost shy.

Buffy gulped and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. “Me, too,” she admitted, heart beating like a rabbit’s. Her palms were sweaty and, god, she couldn’t imagine that she’d ever felt this terrified in all her life.

His smile turned teasing then, putting her instantly at ease. “Well, technically, our lives now pretty much began this evenin’, so we have known each other all along.”

Buffy just chuckled and shook her head.

Something very warm stirred inside Spike at her smile, and he leaned in slowly before quickly stopping himself. Hands clenched to fists, he moved to get off the bed. “Right. Best let you get some sleep, then,” he said half to himself.

And Buffy watched him go and suddenly really didn’t want him to leave. Instinctively, her hand reached out and caught him by the arm.

“Slayer?” he questioned softly when after a few seconds she still hadn’t said a thing.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest, and Buffy wasn’t sure anymore why she had stopped him. The impression that she had known him forever persisted, but at the same time it all seemed to be going too fast.

“’S OK,” he said eventually, reaching to lightly cup her cheek in his hand. “It’ll be easier when we get to know each other better again.”

She nodded, thankful that he understood, and let go of her hold on his arm. His hand dropped too, and she almost sighed in regret at the loss of contact.

“Here, at least we can get you comfortable,” she suggested as she pulled the comforter off her bed and handed it to him. Next she grabbed the pillow they had fought over earlier, and noticed his amused look.

“There’s another one,” she defended herself. “I don’t need two.”

He merely smiled as she walked in front of him and led the way out of the room and to the first floor. Judging by the silence of the whole house, Dawn and Tara had already settled in for the night…or rather morning.

Buffy made sure that the curtains were safely closed, and fluffed the pillow before putting it down. Then she took the comforter from Spike and spread it over the couch. When she turned, she was startled to discover he had come closer and was now mere inches from her, trapping her between the couch and the coffee table. She could have gone around the table, of course, but he moved, just barely, yet enough for her to pass by him. And if her body brushed against him as she did, it was no more than an accident, or so she told herself as she walked back to her room, his words trailing up after her.

“Sweet dreams, luv.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Waking up to a weird humming sound and spending five minutes trying to figure out what the bloody hell it is, only to realize that you’re **purring** , of all insane things, is one hell of a way to start your day, let me tell you._

 _Of course, can’t really blame a bloke for purring a bit when he wakes up curled around sweet Slayer scent, surrounded by her pillow and blanket. Floral shampoo, a bit of citrus, something soft and feminine, and something else wild and dangerous. I think I’m in heaven…_

 _Moment of peace doesn’t last, though. It never does. Or, at least, I assume it never does ‘cause I don’t really remember, now do I? Suddenly remembering you’ve just lost your entire life, can’t remember a damned thing, and now you’re some undead demon is a mighty hard blow to take first thing in the morning. The sort of thing that makes you want to reach over and find someone beside you – someone who really cares, who loves you more than anything – and hold them. No one there, of course._

 _And, Christ, I really am a ponce, amn’t I? I’ll blame dear old dad. That’s what he deserves for naming me ‘Randy’. Bloody poofter name..._

“Buffy, your _boyfriend_ is awake!” Dawn’s giggle and yell.

 _And it should be illegal for teenagers to be this hyper this early in the…er, afternoon._

 _But then Dawn’s shouting brings in big sis from the kitchen, and my Slayer – and when did she become **my** Slayer anyway? – is wearing this baggy t-shirt, and her shorts are this tiny little lacy pink fabric that shows off her legs, and her hair’s all mussed from sleep._

 _Most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Even more so when she gives me that shy smile of hers._

 _And then, I have to ruin it all. My mouth will be the death of me, some day. Or maybe it has already been?_

“’M your boyfriend, now, am I?”

 _The shy smile disappears in a slightly blushing pout as she glares at me, then at Dawn._

“I told you to stop with that,” she tells her sister, hands set firmly on her hips. “Spike is not my boyfriend.”

 _Dawn snorts before I can even think of something to say._

“How do you know he’s not?” she teases. “Got your memories back suddenly?”

 _Another glare, and Buffy huffs and puffs her way back to the kitchen. Dawn giggles as she winks at me and starts up the stairs, and I am left to ponder my next move. Not for long, mind. I’m attracted to my Slayer like a moth to the flame, there’s no denying it. And she’s probably as dangerous to me as said flame._

 _Speaking of danger… There’s a square of light in the middle of the kitchen, and I carefully walk around it. Don’t really care for knowing what happens if I walk into the light…_

“Be careful!” _Buffy exclaims as she notices me._

 _Is she worried for me? Like she was this morning when dad pointed out that the sun might not be so healthy for me? Makes a bloke all warm, that kind of worry._

“Are you hungry?” she asks when she’s sure I’m going to be fine. “Breakfast? Or lunch? What do you want?”

 _I am hungry, yes, but somehow it suddenly strikes me. I’m a vampire. I doubt that cereals and milk are going to help. And despite all her worrying, I doubt even more that my dear Buffy is going to open a vein for me._

* * *

As she stood in front of the dresser, Tara couldn’t help but wonder. She had found her clothes easily enough, neatly folded and piled up. But she had also found items that very clearly were not hers. Pants too tight, tops too small…

Whose clothes were they? Was someone else living in the house with them?

She eyed the large bed, pondering. She had forgotten everything, but certain things were still clear about who she was.

 _Soft feminine limbs intertwining, sweet scents, and tender kisses. The feel of a woman’s body beneath her hands, and female hands upon her…_

Tara shook the brief fantasy off, but it made her wonder. If there was a love in her life, she knew it had to be another woman. And some part of her really hoped that that was the hidden meaning behind these clothes.

She smiled softly as Buffy and Spike’s seemingly endless arguing sounded from downstairs. She was pretty certain she would never want that _high-maintenance_ a relationship, but it was sweet to watch the two of them. To see the gentle touches, the occasional blush, the way they so obviously cared for each other. And, really, they had just met. _Meant to be…_

Tara wished more than anything that there was someone she was meant to be with like that while she folded away the garments and closed the drawer.

No time for that now, of course. Dawn was screeching that she’d burnt something on the stove, and some distant horror told Tara not to let Buffy near the kitchen. Maybe it was just the logical extension of Spike’s complaints about Buffy’s driving last night.

She went downstairs and into the crowded kitchen, sparing a smile to all her newfound friends, before taking over the pancakes. Remarkable how some skills just came back to her when she tried them, even though she had no idea she knew how to do them beforehand.

“Can you make chocolate-chip?” Dawn instantly jumped on the new food-source.

Tara just nodded, shaking her head for Spike’s benefit; Buffy was still too busy scrunching up her nose in disgust at the low-fat yogurts in the refrigerator and insisting they must be Dawn’s. Spike smiled back before looking forlornly at the food on the table.

 _Right. Vampire. Nothing to eat._ She wondered if he could drink non-human blood. She found the idea distasteful, but it seemed possible they could get that sort of thing at the butcher’s. She suggested the idea and saw Spike’s expression turn hopeful. Apparently enough vampiric instincts remained in him that drinking blood sounded pretty good.

Buffy yanked out the phone directory and found a butcher’s, and then frowned over the map, obviously turned upside-down.

Finishing her breakfast, Tara offered to go. She’d discovered last night that her sense of direction was excellent.

Buffy smiled gratefully, and her hand rested gently on Spike’s shoulder for a moment in a soothing gesture, before he managed to pick another fight.

Tara left the house to the sound of their argument and paused only for a brief second to glance at the pictures on the mantelpiece. All of the gang who had woken in the Magic Box last night (except, strangely, Spike – did vampires not photograph, perhaps?) smiled back at her, arms wrapped around each other in a loose, friendly manner. But one stuck out her. A picture of herself and Willow, smiling brightly and holding each other.

 _If only…_

But then she shook her head and went out. It was a vain hope. After all, Willow had a boyfriend.

* * *

Willow awoke that morning in a big comfortable bed, squinting uncomfortably at the sun’s rays that trailed in through the blinds. She blinked lazily, recognized the distinct scent of male, and sat up with a gasp.

Slowly, realization dawned that Alex had proven to be more than a gentleman the night before and had not only agreed that sleeping together would feel awkward, but had also insisted she take the bed while he crashed on the couch.

She was lucky to have such a sweet boyfriend. _I just wish I kinda wasn’t beginning to suspect that the ‘boy’ part might not exactly be for me_ , she winced inwardly, getting out of bed.

She stretched as she moved around the room, yawning. She was wearing a too large t-shirt borrowed from Alex’s drawer the previous night. They had done a quick assessment of whose clothing was where, and when seeing what kind of nightwear was in her drawers, Willow had shyly requested to borrow something from her…boyfriend.

Nope. The word definitely did not feel right when applied to Alex. It did not feel right at all.

With some sense of dread, she opened her drawers again, and pulled out the most conservative pair of underwear she found. She was sure there was a reason why she owned so many lacy and frilly things, but right now she was in a ‘plain’ kind of mood. She then found a pair of jeans and a glittery butterfly top. So much for plain.

Wondering if Alex was awake yet, she tiptoed out of the room, clutching her clothes to her chest. There was no sound in the living room, save for a very slight snore. Still asleep, then. As quietly as she could, she walked into the bathroom, intent on taking a shower. She hesitated for an instant, but eventually locked the door behind her, uncomfortable at the idea that anyone – even her boyfriend with whom she lived and apparently shared a bed – might walk in on her.

* * *

The sound of running water awoke Alex, and it took him a moment to truly wake up and recall where he was and why. Living room. Couch. Pretty girlfriend in the bedroom. A bit too awkward to sleep in the same bed when they didn't remember their first date, first kiss, first anything.

And he still didn’t remember any of it.

 _Guess that ruins the whole ‘It was all a bad dream’ theory…_

Rising groggily, Alex yawned and got up just in time to hear the water in the bathroom turn off.

 _Note to self: Don’t forget to add ‘Doesn’t spend hours in the bathroom every morning’ to the Perfect Girlfriend List._

He stretched and shouted out his intention to enter the bedroom. “Just want to get some clean clothes,” he announced.

Willow shouted her agreement from the bathroom.

Alex entered and couldn’t help but smile at the rumbled sheets on the bed. He wished more than anything that he had his memories back then, because he was willing to bet they’d be wonderful.

He frowned at the contents of his drawers. Well, okay, first he’d accidentally opened a drawer full of lacy underwear, blushed, and then tried the other dresser. And, really, who could blame him for trying to decipher how the lingerie item that had been on top was even _used_?

His own clothes were…less exciting. Plaid flannel seemed to be a theme. And a couple of suspiciously gay looking Hawaiian shirts. _Lucky I’ve got my girlfriend to prove I’m straight_ , he chuckled to himself before settling for a dark blue plaid. _Or maybe I’m just exceptionally proud of my combined Scottish/Hawaiian heritage._

He got dressed, happy to discover that his internal monologue was at least entertaining. Spotted the blinking light on the answering machine.

“Can I come in?” Willow shouted from the bathroom.

“Unless you’ve locked yourself in,” he retorted.

Smiling at his joke, Willow returned to the bedroom in… Wow. Guess she was into bright colors.

He clicked the answering machine button as Willow sat on the edge of the bed curiously.

“Xander, this is Dave. Rough about the flu, but you picked a good time. We’re just meeting with the contractors today, so I can fill you in later this week. And don’t let that girl of yours wear you out.” A chuckle and a beep at the end of the message.

“Xander?” Willow mouthed curiously.

Alex shrugged. “Nickname, I guess.”

“It’s…nice,” she agreed. “I like it.”

“Xander, it is,” he gave her a wink. “Xander who apparently has a very cool boss and a girlfriend who…” He couldn’t help but grin.

Willow blushed and shook her head. “I don’t _feel_ like a randy sex kitten,” she joked back.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” he assured her before hesitantly leaning in.

Willow’s eyes widened, but she let him give her a quick kiss. As if in mutual realization, they both broke apart almost instantly.

“Er…yeah…” Xander said sheepishly, getting up. “Rupert copied the number from his driver’s license, and I’m supposed to call him and…”

“Good idea,” Willow hastily jumped to her feet. “I’ll see what food we have.” She practically fled from the room.

Xander sighed and dialed the number. _The perfect girlfriend… So why, when I kissed her, did it feel like I was kissing my sister?_

* * *

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I feel like I should introduce myself all over again since the strangest thing happened last night. You see, my name is – apparently – Dawn Summers, and last night I woke up with no memory of who I am. It wasn’t just me, either. There was this whole group of us, and we were all in this really cool magic store, and we’ve all got complete amnesia. Rupert – he’s this really smart old guy – thinks that someone cast a spell on us or something. Which would be cool if it didn’t kind of suck._

 _I guess I’m lucky, though, because I found my home last night. My sister, too. You’ll never believe this, but her name is Buffy. And I thought Joan was funny. This really sweet girl named Tara that makes the best pancakes in the world lives with us, too. We’re probably, like, all friends or something. So, yeah, I’m lucky. This absolutely *gorgeous* guy named Spike is staying with us ‘cause he hasn’t found his home yet. Well, actually, his name is Randy, but that’s lame so everyone calls him Spike, which is much, much cooler. He’s a vampire, too, which is just awesome because he’s a good vampire and not like the ones who attacked us yesterday. Plus, he’s way hot. Unfortunately, he’s so totally in love with my sister, it’s not even funny. And they just met yesterday!_

 _I guess we all did, but it’s funny the things we’ve all managed to figure out so quickly. Like, we figured out that Rupert is Spike’s father, and they’re both British. Or is it English? Whatever. They’re always teasing each other, it’s kind of nice. I wonder where my parents are._

 _Also, Rupert and Anya own the store together. It’s a really cool store with lots of weird looking stuff and old books in a mezzanine. That’s where we all woke up yesterday and now we’re back there, looking for clues about who we are and what happened. I just knew it would be so boring so I took this diary with me. I’m up in the mezzanine and they’re all on the ground floor, talking and arguing and really not making more progress. But anyway._

 _Did I mention Anya and Rupert are engaged? Which is so totally gross because Anya really doesn’t look any older than Spike, which means that Rupert could be her father. Eww!_

 _And then there’s Willow and Alex – no, not Alex, he said his nickname is Xander. Sounds weird, but not as weird as Buffy. They’re a couple, too, but I’ve been wondering about them. I mean, yesterday Willow made that remark about being gay, and I thought she was kidding, but the way she is around Xander, all avoiding and shifty, and she keeps throwing glances at Tara when she thinks no one is looking… I’d bet my most cherished possession – if I had the slightest idea of what it is – that Tara and Willow are having an affair. Or were having an affair, rather, before all of this started. Plus, there’s these pictures of Willow and Tara in our house, and Tara said they had to be close friends, but it sure looks like more than friends to me. Poor Xander._

 _What else… Oh, right, Buffy. She’s a vampire killer, or something. Supposedly all super strong and stuff. All I know is that she can’t cook and she’s trying to boss me around and there’s one vampire she really doesn’t want to kill. She’s always pretending to glare at him and rolling her eyes and acting like she’s not interested, but come on! As soon as he’s not looking, she goes all googly-eyes. So not fair._

 _Oh. They’re talking about going out, I’d better get down before they forget all about me._

* * *

From behind the counter where she was counting the money in the cash register – it had only been logical to open the store for business since they were there – Anya was only paying half a mind to what the rest of the group was saying. Her thoughts were still on what had happened when she and Rupert had awoken that afternoon…

 _“Mmm,” Anya awoke with a contented smile, cuddling up closer to her bed companion, “you’re warm.”_

 _“I’m also attempting to do serious research,” Rupert protested, “and your hand is right over—”_

 _“Ruppie?” Anya cut him off._

 _“Yes?”_

 _She sat up and gave him a small kiss. “’Morning.”_

 _He blushed at that and ran his fingers through her blond curls. “Good morning,” he agreed, voice soft and seductive._

 _She curled up next to him and nibbled on his ear. “You really don’t need to research now,” she insisted._

 _And he sighed. “Lamentably, I do,” he countered. “We have only precious few hours before the meeting tonight, and it would be best if we knew everything we could about Slayers, vampires, and memory spells in—”_

 _Anya huffed. “I’m willing to wear frilly costumes of your choice.”_

 _Rupert blinked at her and licked his lips. “Later,” he promised…_

Returning to the present, Anya just smiled at where her fiancé was describing methods for killing vampires, the pattern of Slayer succession, and a series of rather elaborate patrol routes he’d spent all afternoon designing. So, she had to push harder for the sex. That was simple enough. And well worth it for a man who had an extremely efficient and productive mind. Obviously, he was good for making money as well as orgasms and…

The words evaded Anya for the moment. But then Rupert smiled over at where she was checking to make sure none of the money was missing, and she knew one thing for sure: Whatever had caused this, she was glad that it had changed Rupert’s mind about leaving her.

* * *

Rupert watched with something akin to annoyance as his son fell asleep, head pillowed on Joan’s – no, _Buffy’s_ – shoulder. Honestly, these changing names would be the end of him.

Even more infuriating was the fact that his Slayer, his warrior to teach and guide in the fight against evil, seemed more preoccupied with Randy than her sacred duty. Although Rupert couldn’t entirely fault her for that. His son, despite his unfortunate choice of nicknames, had obviously inherited his father’s dashing good looks.

Very much on purpose, he noisily set down the heavy book he had been quoting from on the table, satisfied when his son was startled awake and Buffy began paying a little more attention to him.

“As I was saying,” he repeated as patiently as he could, “the Slayer is responsible for keeping the location she is assigned to safe. This implies regular patrols through the different cemeteries of the town, and it seems that Sunnydale has quite a collection of these. I have drawn several routes for you to follow when you patrol, in order to maximize your efficiency. I was also thinking that since Ran…”

A sharp look from his son, and Rupert faked a cough.

“Since Spike,” he continued, “is also stronger than humans, he could take a different patrol route.”

Slayer and vampire looked at each other, and Rupert just knew that they were going to fight him on that. He took off his glasses in what he suspected was an old habit, and waited for their arguments. He was honestly beginning to wonder if he hadn’t robbed them all of their memories to forget how frustrating his son and his charge could be. If that had been his goal, he had very clearly failed.

“That’s a bloody stupid idea,” Spike stated bluntly.

Buffy lips twitched in a contained smile. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said with a little more diplomacy, “but I’d rather have Spike with me for patrol, so we can watch each other’s back. It’s still all new, and I wouldn’t be very comfortable being alone.”

Rupert was about to remind her – as he had already explained it earlier – that the Slayer traditionally worked alone, with only the supervision of her Watcher, but just as he started talking a bouncing teenager climbed down the ladder and exclaimed.

“Can I come too?”

Buffy answered her sister’s request without taking a second to think.

“No. You can’t. It’s too dangerous. And don’t even think about arguing with me.”

Dawn pouted. Buffy scowled. Rupert sighed. If he ever was to make his own memories vanish (again?), he’d be sure to leave himself a note about why he was doing it exactly.

* * *

Frowning, Buffy examined the map Rupert had drawn for her patrol route. It said there ought to be a cemetery straight ahead, but all she could see was a seemingly innocuous row of houses.

“Will you let me look at that damn map, now, Slayer?” Spike snapped, and her hand twitched toward the stake she had tucked in her waistband. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to insist that they should patrol together.

The funny thing was that, as irritating as Spike could be, she felt strangely at peace around him. Almost like the two of them were meant to be joined at the hip, annoying each other and fighting evil and sharing those occasional soft looks…

 _Infuriating but gorgeous_ , Buffy couldn’t help but smile as his brow furrowed with confusion while he tried to match the map to their location.

“’S this way,” he finally declared confidently. He looked up at her and froze at the smile on her face.

 _So there’s a memory spell that Rupert will probably fix by tomorrow. So I should probably wait until we’ve got everything figured out. But what if the two of us really are together? What if I'm just supposed to give into all this temptation because my body remembers something my mind doesn’t? What if—_

She shook the thousand questions off. “We’ve already been that way,” she insisted stubbornly.

“’S the only way we _haven’t_ been,” he countered.

Buffy took a step closer and snatched at the corner of the map so that they were each holding half. It brought their bodies so close they were casually brushing. “Ugh,” she sighed. “With all these cemeteries on the map, you’d think we’d be able to find at least one.”

“Guess we’re not such a dynamite team, after all,” he countered with a smirk. “Can’t even find Shady Hill Cemetery.”

Buffy looked up, recognizing the tone in his words and wanting to see the way his lips curved in that wicked way of his. _Wonder if the other, full-memory Buffy ever got her fill of watching those lips… Wonder if Buffy ever tasted those lips… Wonder if—_

“Slayer?” Spike’s question was a husky whisper, his eyes dark with obvious interest.

 _Wonder how on earth that other Buffy managed to resist all the temptation if Spike **isn’t** my guy_ , she thought before turning away once more. “I vote for just wandering around,” she said brightly, pointedly stepping away from him and walking briskly down the street. “I mean, what are the odds that there’s anything demonic out here anyway?” She remained happily oblivious to the slay-filled curse she’d just bestowed upon them.

“Forgettin’ about yours truly?” he teased lightly, stride matching hers.

 _Right. Like I could ever forget you, even with a complete memory wipe…_


	6. Chapter 6

If Spike hadn’t been so smug about it, Buffy would have admitted that he had been right. The cemetery had indeed been in the direction he had predicted, and they were now walking through graves.

Shouldn’t she have been spooked by that, anyway? Graveyards, hardly the most romantic…er… _comforting_ places to visit. But it didn’t feel weird. Rather, it felt almost familiar, as if the memory of patrols like this one was just on the edge of her vision, and if she only turned a little she would find it again. Just like patrolling with Spike was familiar.

“And how are we supposed to find something to kill anyway?” the blond suddenly grumbled.

She glared at him. “Will you be quiet? You’re scaring them away!”

If he had only listened to Rupert, he would have known that this was proper patrol protocol. Walk around a graveyard, look for signs of fresh graves and any suspicious looking activities.

For a few seconds he was silent, and then, again, he was protesting against their assignment, this time more loudly.

“This is ridiculous! I’d bet there isn’t a bloody demon anywhere in a ten mile radius!”

She was about to point out to him that by now, certainly, the demons were all gone, when someone… _something_ came out of the shadows. The demon was scary, showing too many teeth, loose skin on his face and body hinting at possible transformation, and holding a large…bucket of buffalo wings?

“Spike! Buffy! How are you, guys?”

Spike and Buffy looked at each other in surprise, blinked, turned back to the ferocious-looking demon…

…Who, actually, when he was smiling brightly like that and carrying something as innocuous as a bucket of wings, didn’t really look that ferocious at all.

Buffy and Spike exchanged another look and shrugged.

“Uh…fine?” Buffy ventured hesitantly.

“Good to hear it. I know things have been rough for you lately, but it’s nice to see a smile,” the demon grinned.

Buffy blinked slowly. Spike raised a confused eyebrow.

“Thanks,” Buffy managed a smile. She gave Spike a pointed look, unsure whether to kill the seemingly friendly creature. _Are there demons whose evil powers are their friendliness and they…braid your hair or something when you aren’t looking?_

“Beautiful night for slaying,” the demon responded merrily. “I was going to ask if you wanted to watch the Cops marathon tonight. Plenty of pointless violence, and all that. But I wouldn’t want to disturb you two kids.” He reached out with one clawed hand and gave Spike a pat on the shoulder. “Enjoy your walk,” he winked pointedly at Spike.

Spike nodded slowly, liking the implication that he and his girl were out for a midnight stroll. Maybe this demon fellow knew that they were a hot item. Maybe he was only a quick question away from being able to sweep his Slayer off her feet right now…

And he suddenly discovered that really just wasn’t a very patient man. Understood the logic behind keeping the memory loss to themselves, didn’t care, and decided abruptly that he couldn’t handle this anymore. “Do we know you?” he demanded.

The demon blinked a couple of times, and his grin wavered between amusement and worry. “You’re joking, right?” he asked, uncertain, before turning to Buffy, his voice coming close to a whisper as he repeated: “He’s joking, right? Or he hit his head or something?”

The Slayer glared at Spike, clearly reproaching him of breaking their cover, but he couldn’t have cared less.

“’S a matter of fact,” he answered the demon, suddenly inspired, “I _did_ hit my head. Something bad. Can still feel it.”

He rubbed the back of his skull as if to demonstrate, giving Buffy a look that asked her to play along. Her frown disappeared and her eyes widened a little when she finally understood.

“Oh! Yeah, he did hurt his head. I’ve been telling him to go back to his house and rest but you know him, stubborn vamp, he doesn’t want to listen to the Slayer!”

She finished with a forced chuckle, and Spike wanted to roll his eyes at her. God, but she was a bad liar. Still, it seemed to have done the trick. A worried expression appeared on the demon’s fleshy features and he looked at Spike sympathetically.

“Not that you’d remember, but I warned you that patrolling with the Slay…”

He cut himself short and coughed nervously, apparently remembering all of a sudden that Buffy was right there.

“Right. So. We’d better get you back home. You’ll be good as new after a little blood and rest, trust Doctor Clem on that.”

Throwing a triumphant look at the Slayer, Spike followed this Doctor Clem. With any luck, he would soon have all the proofs needed to convince Buffy that they were a couple – he was just certain that he was the kind of guy who kept souvenirs. All he needed was a good look around his…crypt?

“I live in a soddin’ crypt?” Spike exclaimed in vehement disbelief as Clem opened the door.

The floppy-eared demon nodded vigorously. “Nice place, too. The envy of all the lesser demons in town.”

Spike gave Buffy a skeptical look and entered. Buffy just tried to smile and followed. When she got a look at the interior, however, she was left gaping instead. “Not bad,” she finally managed.

Spike gave her a sharp look, momentarily disrupted from his own shock, and she abruptly remembered that she was supposed to, well, remember.

“Uh, what I mean is…” she hastily back-tracked.

“The new couch is a major improvement,” Clem agreed, plopping himself down on the remarkably tidy upholstery. “It was nice of Giles to give it to you.”

 _Gift from dear old dad, huh?_ Spike thought inwardly, trailing his fingertips over the back. Not a bad place in all, he decided. A bit melodramatic with all the candles – and, were those _real_ skulls in the window frame? – but he had a nice telly, a little fridge… He frowned. “I sleep in the sarcophagus over there, then?” he asked Clem curiously.

Clem had flipped to his channel and was apparently enjoying the Cops marathon all by himself. After all, nothing could possibly help Spike recover his memory faster than bad, violent TV reruns. “Bedroom’s downstairs,” he answered.

Buffy and Spike both looked around at that, and Buffy spotted the trapdoor in the back, gave it a yank. “You first,” she smiled softly, cheeks flushing slightly when, as he passed her, his body brushed very pointedly against hers.

“Plannin’ on joining me in my bedroom, luv?” he purred before jumping down the hole.

Buffy’s face turned a bright red when she noticed Clem had been watching them. He gave her the thumb’s up sign and a little wink before returning to his bucket of wings and television.

 _At least with Spike’s buddy here, I won’t give in to temptation_ , she encouraged herself before taking a deep breath and leaping down the opening.

She landed in a careful crouch and slowly rose, looking around. _Or, then again, maybe some temptations are worth getting caught by the friendly demon with the weird skin. Welcome to Spike’s den of carnal pleasure…_

Spike heard Buffy right behind him, but his attention remained on the room in front of him, and his face lit with a bright smile as he discovered, in particularly, the bed. Solid hard wood headboard, wide and soft looking mattress, rumpled sheets that hinted at delicious activities…

“Now that’s more like it,” he commented as he let himself fall back on the bed. “Definitely more comfortable than your sofa. And larger than your bed, too.”

A suggestive wink to Buffy had her cheeks suddenly flaming, even if she tried to hide it by looking around.

“You don’t have much furniture,” she noted out loud. “It looks like you haven’t been living here for long.”

Leaning back on his elbows, he shrugged and watched her walk around the room.

“Maybe I’ve only been a vamp since recently,” he suggested. “Got all the necessities, and now working on the accessories.”

She nodded thoughtfully and opened the top drawer of his one and only dresser. Strange, Spike thought, how he really didn’t mind her looking through his stuff. It felt…comfortable. He supposed she had done it before and part of him remembered it without really remembering. God, but this memory thing was becoming annoying.

The really maddening part was to have all these feelings, near certainties, and nothing to back them up. Like knowing that he and Buffy were close, very close, and yet there wasn’t a trace of her scent on his sheets, only his own. His smile wavered at that realization; still, he refused to believe he was wrong about her, about them.

“Hey look! Clothes!”

Brought back to the scene in front of him, he sat up as Buffy held a black t-shirt in front of her, and his grin returned. That looked, without a doubt, much better than tweed.

“What else we got in there?” he asked curiously, sitting up on the bed.

Buffy’s nose scrunched up in concentration as she routed through the drawer. “Lots of black. Ooh…purple shirt…pretty… And more black. Jeans this time.”

Spike smirked at that. “Toss us somethin’ less…” He glanced speculatively down at the day-old tweed he was wearing.

“Geeky?” Buffy suggested with a wicked grin.

He scowled at her. “’m sure this get-up is the old man’s fault.” He caught the jeans and purple button-up shirt she tossed his way.

“You hope,” she teased.

He tisked lightly and gave her a wicked smile. Without another word, his hands turned to the button of his pants, popping it open with deliberate slowness.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “You’re just gonna change right here?” she asked in disbelief.

He grinned and pulled slowly at the zipper.

With an audible ‘eep’, she spun around and covered her eyes with her hands. That didn’t keep her from hearing the long, slow grating of metal teeth as he stripped behind her. And one part of her really couldn’t help but conspire as to how she could sneak a peek without getting caught.

“’S safe now, luv,” Spike’s bemused voice wafted over to her after he’d fastened the buttons of his jeans.

With a deep breath for composure, she turned back around…and gaped. “No shirt,” she stated dumbly, licking her lips. “Shirt not on why?”

Spike smirked at that, having obtained the reaction he had hoped for. That tip of a tongue running over her lips was simply begging for a mate to play with.

“There,” he said teasingly as he slipped the shirt on then spread his arms wide, letting it hang open on his chest. “Better now?”

 _Not better_ , Buffy thought, unable to take her eyes off him. _But still very yummy._ The way the fabric framed his skin, so pale and so perfect, dancing along it in what had to be so close to a caress… She suddenly itched to replace the fabric with her hands, and see which of the shirt or his skin felt silkier. She was betting on the latter.

“It’s called buttons,” she pointed out blankly as she gestured toward him. His widening grin was infuriating, and her eyes narrowed in comprehension. So, he was having fun teasing her, was he? Well, two could play that game.

“And in case you’ve forgotten how they work,” she murmured with a coy flutter of her eyelashes, “let me show you.”

She stepped closer to him, so close that he could feel her heat radiating toward him, and reached for the sides of his shirt. He let her do as she pleased, suppressing a shiver when her knuckles accidentally brushed his skin. Eyes intent on her work, she looked quite simply delicious, and it was all he could do to stay still and not pull her closer, trap her hot little hands between them, bury his face in the crook of her tantalizing neck…

On the third contact, he started to realize that it might not be completely accidental. When she grazed his nipple through the fabric, it was clear that she was doing it on purpose.

“Slayer?” His voice had turned to a husky whisper at her touch, apparently. He wet his lips and repeated with a bit more confidence. “What’re you doing, luv?”

She smiled but didn't look up, sliding one fingertip sensually up the deep purple fabric. “Buttoning your shirt,” she answered with false innocence.

He sighed and closed his eyes when, on the last button, her fingers lingered over his solar plexus, stroking the bare skin there in a gentle caress.

Buffy watched his nostrils flare as he fought for breath, felt his body shudder beneath her fingertips, and couldn’t help but feel her own body heating up in response. Teasing was fun, but touching him like this was…amazing. Shaking herself from the intensity of the moment, she fastened the last button and took a step back.

“All better now.” The desire was as evident in her voice as it had been in his.

He opened his eyes, and she felt herself drowning in the dark blue pools. His pupils were dilated, and the slow quirk of his lips told her only too well that he had it in mind to act upon the growing tension between them. “Is it?” he purred, his voice rumbling deep within his chest.

She gulped and nodded. “B-Because we’ve just lost all our memories, and things are really confusing right now, a-and I’m all flustered because you were hot and naked.” She blushed at the last one. She hadn’t meant to say that. Really.

He smirked. “Nothin’ wrong with hot and naked,” he retorted. “Especially since dear old Clem says we’re…close.” He took a step closer, and she stepped back, looking like a wide-eyed doe ready to flee. He sighed and turned away from her to look in the vague direction of an old, overstuffed armchair. “Prob’ly right about the waitin’ bit,” he conceded reluctantly.

Buffy was surprised at how disappointed she was. A part of her was terrified, true, but an even greater part of her was excited, wanted to push the boundaries between them. “Oh, what the hell,” she decided, stepping into him once more. “I get the feeling I’ve always been a _carpe diem_ kinda girl…”

He turned to look at her in surprise when her hands came to rest gently on either side of his waist and gasped when she pulled him closer. And then she stood up on her toes to press her lips lightly to his, and he lost all ability to think.

His lips were cool against hers, soft and full, and the contact needed to be prolonged to be appreciated fully, she decided. She traced the seam of his lips with her tongue and they parted slowly, allowing her access to his mouth.

The light brush of her tongue against his woke him up from the sweet dream he had slid into, only to realize that this was no dream. The kiss was light, no more than a caress, but it was full of promises of things to come, as were the hands stroking his sides softly…


	7. Chapter 7

The drive back from the Magic Box had been quiet and pleasant. A bit too much information swirled in the backs of their minds, but the hours upon hours of research concerning Slayers, vampires, and every memory spell imaginable were only secondary now to the company they kept.

Rupert watched his fiancée enter the apartment before him and felt oddly shy. The work, the fuss of research, and the day-to-day business at the store had been sublime. Anya had a rich, if peculiar, sense of humor, he’d discovered, and their casual conversations had been just as stimulating as their more… _intimate_ moments. That, and her sharp wit kept him nicely on his toes and made him feel young again.

 _Poor Randy’s already taken to the banter. By the time he’s my age, his mid-life crisis is bound to be ten times mine._ But, then, Randy wasn’t getting any older now, was he? It was amazing how easy it was to forget that his own son was a vampire. He acted so very human and…insolent.

“If you’re thinking about more research,” Anya turned about to face him, after setting her massive pile of books on the coffee table, “ _I’m_ leaving _you_.” She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back in a way that gave him quite a delightful view on her chest.

Subtly shifting his pants, he smiled. “We can’t have that,” he teased lightly.

Anya looked at him in surprise. “We’re not doing more research?” she asked in somewhat suspicious disbelief. “Because I was willing to offer up kinky sexual favors in exchange…”

“We already have uncovered more than enough memory spells to test tomorrow,” he clarified.

Her shoulders slumped slightly that rabid monkey lust for her hadn't been his motivation. God, she needed an orgasm or ten soon, or she was going to die from sexual frustration…

“Although I’m willing to pretend otherwise if it will earn me a few of those favors,” he added with a rakish grin.

Anya’s expression instantly turned downright devilish, and she slunk towards him with wicked purpose in her swaying hips. “I could always wear tweed,” she suggested. Such a pity she’d apparently already moved her clothes out of Rupert’s apartment. She was confident she had many sexually pleasing outfits.

He gulped. She really was extraordinarily beautiful, and when she twisted one curl of blonde hair around her finger like that, he had almost the uncontrollable urge to jump her like a wild animal. “Actually, I’d prefer you wore nothing at all.” He flushed when he said it, before quickly removing his glasses and going for the polishing cloth.

Anya sulked that her pouncing opportunity had been interrupted. “I was going to nibble on your ear,” she complained when he quickly moved away, putting the couch between them, “and then I was going to check the size of your pe—”

“Perhaps we should—” Rupert interjected, then froze in shock at what she’d been about to say. Sometimes her brazenness overwhelmed even him. There was something delightful about a woman so confident in her sexuality. “Ahem,” he coughed, fighting back a little smile. “I was about to say that perhaps it would be advisable not to have our ‘reunion’ while we still remain ignorant of why we were breaking up. And furthermore—”

“Rupert?” Anya cut him off with a sigh. “We’re adults, we’re engaged, and I’m feeling incredibly horny. And, given that all my clothes are gone, I think it’s safe to say I don’t have my vibrator here, either.”

“Yes, quite.” He actually found himself a bit embarrassed by her candor.

He had found it somewhat surprising at first that he’d been engaged to a woman far younger. But Anya had surprised him with her odd mature quirks, almost as though she’d been around for a lot longer than she looked. He admired that, hoped that other people had seen that trait in him throughout his life. And he was exceptionally proud to see that he’d passed that sense of world-knowledge on to his son, as well.

Anya sighed. “You’re thinking too much again. And, while long bouts of thought do often coincide with high orgasmic potential, I’'m feeling horny.” She stepped in close to him and slipped her arms around his neck.

“We _are_ engaged…” he commented thoughtfully.

“Try throwing caution to wind,” Anya advised. “Really, what’s the worst that can hap—mmm…” She trailed off when his lips suddenly met hers, wrapped her arms around his neck, and staggered back to the couch.

Fingers found cloth, pushed it aside, bodies tangled, and…

Oh yes, Rupert felt much younger indeed as they washed away the sexual tension between them with pleasure. He wondered how long it had been since he’d just let himself go like this, just _felt_ , and – dear god, that woman could do sinful things with her tongue.

After all, Anya was right. What was the worst that could happen?

* * *

“So, er, yeah.” Willow sat awkwardly on the edge of the couch, twisting the bright pink corner of her glittery butterfly shirt. It wasn’t just her surroundings that felt out of place. Her skin – or, at least, her clothes – screamed ‘not Willow!’ Well, unless she’d had a complete personality switch along with the memory wipe…

“Yeah.” Xander managed a bit of a laugh and sat down next to her. “I guess it’s late…”

“Yes, very late,” Willow agreed enthusiastically. And then she blushed when she realized sleeping arrangements were bound to come up again.

“Yeah…” Xander shifted uncomfortably. What was wrong with him, anyway? This was his girlfriend. They’d had a bit of fun talking and joking during the research, but as soon as they ended up alone together and back in their relationship, this awkwardness had returned. “You can have the bed,” he hurriedly offered. “Just let me get some stuff, and…”

Willow bit her lower lip. She felt terrible about this. Xander was a really nice guy, and she should be happy to have a boyfriend like him. Plus, it felt more than a little wrong to kick him out of his own bed… “It’s OK,” she assured him, managing a brave smile. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.”

He gave her an unsure smile. “I really don’t mind. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or…”

She took a deep breath and covered his hand with hers. “It _is_ our bed,” she pointed out.

“Right.” He got up a bit nervously, looked around the room as she got up as well. Eyes alighted on the answering machine, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the blinking red light. Another convenient distraction.

Apparently, Willow was looking for one, too, because she clicked the button.

 _“This is Sunnydale Catering calling about the arrangements of the Harris/Jenkins wedding,”_ a perky female voice announced.

Willow frowned. ‘Jenkins?’ she mouthed, confused.

Xander just shrugged, frowning at hearing his own name mentioned in wedding plans.

 _“We just wanted to let you know that we’re having problems ordering some of the…ethnic foods. Anya, if you could give me a call about some of those distributors you know? Thank you.” Click._

Willow blinked slowly, absorbing what she’d just heard. “Anya…” she repeated slowly.

“Anya Jenkins?” Xander suggested, equally confused.

Willow’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “Oh my god! Anya’s not marrying Rupert. She’s marrying _you_!”

“She’s…what?” he exclaimed in sudden disbelief. “No, there were rings and…the whole sleeping together thing!” he insisted triumphantly.

“…Which is why all these clothes are _totally_ not me, and we act all awkward around each other, and I’m gay. Because we’re not dating!” she concluded in triumph.

“We’re not dating?” Xander repeated hopefully.

Willow shook her head with a little smile.

“Oh, whew.” A long breath of relief escaped Xander’s lips. “I guess that just means…” He frowned. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?”

“Rupert and Anya went home together. Th-They think they’re engaged,” he pointed out in alarm.

“Phone!” Willow suggested.

Xander ran over to the phone, fumbled for the number and couldn’t find where he’d left it. “Not good. Don’t suppose you remember it?” he asked wryly, shuffling through the papers on the shelves.

Willow just sighed. “Very funny.”

He grinned. And then belatedly caught up to her previous words. “Wait… Did you say you’re gay?”

* * *

“Dawn? It’s getting late. Maybe… Maybe you should go to bed.”

Tara hadn’t finished speaking, but already she could see the fight in the teen’s eyes and posture. The girl had been watching television ever since they had come back from the Magic Box; even if she wouldn’t go to school the next day, she still needed to get some rest.

“I’m waiting for Buffy to come back,” Dawn stated as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“She told you not to wait for her,” Tara reminded her. “Her patrol could take a lot of time.”

The teen snorted.

“Especially since Spike is with her. They’ll probably bicker half the night, and flirt for the rest.”

Hiding a chuckle behind a cough, Tara smiled. “Noticed that too, huh?”

Dawn grinned widely in response. “It would have been hard not to notice. They’re a couple; that’s as evident as Anya and Giles.”

There had been the faintest trace of jealousy in Dawn’ voice when she said the word ‘couple’, but Tara chose not to comment on it. Teenage crushes were fickle things, and she was sure she would have had a few crush stories of her own to share – if she had only remembered.

“Speaking of couples…”

The teen switched the television off and turned sideways on the sofa, facing Tara and leaning in as if to conspire.

“Did you notice how Willow and Xander were acting?”

Notice? Nope. Tara hadn’t done any noticing. None at all. She hadn’t noticed how Willow’s hair seemed to be living fire when the light fell on her just so. Hadn’t noticed the way her whole visage lit when she smiled, or the little lines at the corner of her eyes when she laughed. Hadn’t noticed curves and elegant fingers, hadn’t wondered at all what these fingers would feel like caressing her skin. Nope. Nothing of the sort.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“They were all…shifty and stuff. Like, they weren’t looking directly at each other, or they didn’t talk to each other much. I didn’t even see them touch or kiss or anything.”

“Dawnie, some people don’t like public displays of affection. And with everything that’s going on…”

“I think Willow and you are having an affair,” Dawn blurted out suddenly. “Or were, before we all lost our memories.”

For long seconds, Tara only stared at the girl, completely speechless. She was fairly certain that she hadn’t shown anything more than friendliness toward Willow.

“I… I most certainly am not,” she said at last, as forcefully as she could. “I would never do anything to damage anyone’s relationship.”

And that, she hoped, was the complete and honest truth; but as Dawn pointed out, truth was relative when you barely knew who you were.

“How do you know that? You can’t be sure of anything. None of us can.”

“So neither can you,” she countered, still flustered.

But apparently, Dawn was sure. She listed one after the other the many clues she believed proved that there had been something between Willow and Tara, starting with the pictures of them around the house, the few letters addressed to Willow with the rest of the mail, all the way to the glances Willow was supposedly giving Tara when no one else was looking. By the time the teenager was done, Tara was almost convinced. Almost ready to dare hope.

Could it really be…?

Refusing to show Dawn how troubled she was by all this, she put an end to the discussion and reiterated that it was time for both of them to get some sleep. But when she slid into her too large, too cold bed, the kid’s words, and her own daydreams, returned to haunt her.

* * *

Anya murmured in complaint when the loud ringing woke her up. She moaned and buried herself deeper against Rupert’s bare chest, hoping to snuggle in against the noise. Somehow in their sexcapades they’d finally made it to the bed, and she had no intention of leaving it for the rest of the night.

The phone wouldn’t stop ringing, however.

“What sort of git calls at three AM?” Rupert complained, fumbling for his glasses before snatching up the receiver. “Yes?” he demanded testily, angry at having his night disturbed. A short pause. “Xander, apparently,” he answered his question aloud for Anya’s benefit.

Anya sighed and played absentmindedly with the soft hairs on the back of his arm.

Another moment’s silence. “What?” Pause. “How can you be—? I see.” He pushed at Anya’s hand nervously. “No, that seems quite logical. Yes. Thank you for telling us.” Expression numb, he hung up.

“What is it?” Anya asked, mildly concerned.

“I have some…” he couldn’t help but let out one little shocked chortle, “…unexpected news…”

* * *

Slowly, oh so slowly, Buffy drifted out of sleep, awakened by a low but persistent rumbling. Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a few seconds to adjust to the low light and remember where she was exactly, and with whom. Sighing contentedly, she pulled back just a little from her snuggling place against Spike’'s chest, just enough to see his face. Her movements did not wake him, but the hand at her waist tightened reflexively, preventing her to move farther back, and for an instant the rumbling noise stopped, before starting again. Her eyes widened as she realized what the sound was – Spike was _purring_! – and she slid her hand from his side to his chest, slipping it past the couple of unfastened buttons to touch his skin. The purring only intensified, the vibrations against her fingers sending shivers down to her toes. Smiling to herself at this unexpected but so cute oddity, she brought her attention back to his face, and was startled to discover blue eyes looking straight back at her.

“Slept well, princess?” he murmured as he moved closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Too well,” she grimaced. “I should have gone home long ago. Dawn is going to be worried.”

The fingers against his chest started rubbing small, soothing circles when the rumbling stopped, and within seconds it started again.

“But…’t was nice, right?”

Spike wanted to kick himself for the poncy purring he couldn’t seem to be able to stop, and even more so for the pathetic worry in his voice. But kicking anything, let alone himself, would have required moving, and he wouldn’t have given up his place in the warm embrace of the Slayer for anything.

“It was nice,” she confirmed shyly, and brought her lips back to his.

The kiss was tender and slow, like the very first one they had shared a few hours earlier, and Spike felt his body return to a full state of arousal at this simple contact. He had to remind himself forcefully that none of the highly erotic pictures flashing in his mind was going to take place, at least not that night. She had asked that they take it slow, learn to know each other again before doing anything beyond kissing, and the promise had been too clear in her words for him to ruin it all by pushing too much.

She broke the kiss with a small sigh and, to his chagrin, sat up.

“I really should go,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping here…”

“I know kitten, ‘s OK.”

He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. God, but she was beautiful. Hair mussed up, eyes still full of sleep, a streak on her cheek from a seam line of his shirt…beautiful. To tell the truth, he hadn’t planned on letting her fall asleep either, too content of the small talk and playful teasing they had shared in between increasingly hot kisses. But when her eyelashes had slowly closed, he had been unwilling – unable – to wake her up, and had simply gathered her closer in his arms and gone to sleep with her.

“Want me to walk you home?” he suggested even though he hated that she had to leave, and her face brightened so much that he had to kiss her again.

Getting out of bed proved more difficult than Buffy would have thought, but they eventually managed to, and after straightening their clothes and putting their shoes back on, she led the way to the upper level. The strange looking demon had left, and Buffy couldn’t help but wonder, a little ashamed, what he must have thought they were doing down there for all this time.

“Now, that’s more like it!”

Puzzled, she turned toward Spike in time to see him pick up a coat from the armchair next to the sofa. He slipped it on, liquid grace as the leather engulfed him. Had she really called him geeky?

“I see you approve,” he smirked, and prowled back to where she stood. She raised her hand in front of her, stopping him with a brush of her fingers to his chest.

“I really, really need to go home,” she pleaded.

His features softened a little, the smirk turning into a gentler smile; she gulped when he took her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. How could such a simple thing make her resolve melt like snow in the desert?

“Let’s go, then, Slayer.”

All the way to her home, he didn’t let go of her hand, and it felt to her as if all her nerve endings were suddenly concentrated in this small patch of skin his thumb was rubbing lightly. They didn’t hurry – it didn’t seem that the sun would rise soon – but it still was all too quickly that they reached their goal. Reluctant to part with her newfound…friend? Boyfriend? Love? Lover? Buffy pulled him to the relative privacy offered by a couple of trees, and rediscovered all over again the magic of kissing him.

When they finally said goodnight after Spike reluctantly announced that he could feel the imminence of the sunrise, Buffy went straight to bed, her lips still tingling from his touch, her body longing for his to curl up against.


	8. Chapter 8

Buffy had been less than pleased to be woken up far too early that morning and dragged out to the Magic Box for an ‘Emergency Meeting’. Not that she was having much more difficulty fantasizing about Spike gropage now. Nope, Spike was still gorgeous and lickable and very, very naked in her mind's eye. The problem was that, while she was conscious and in a Very Important Meeting, she had to think about other things than the feel of Spike's bare chest beneath her fingertips, his lips soft and passionate against her own, the purr that rumbled through his chest when she…

“We, er, discovered something rather important last night,” Rupert began, glasses already off and being polished.

Buffy, Dawn, and Tara all noticed that he and Anya were not acting so cuddly today. And that Willow and Xander seemed a bit shifty, too. It seemed they were the only ones who weren't in on the secret.

“Apparently,” Rupert went on, his tone stern and lecturing because it set up a mood in which he had to be a leader and thus couldn’t possibly deal with the consequences that this woman he’d so come to admire was, in fact, marrying another man… He gulped when he realized his mind had drifted and began anew. “We’ve made several grievous errors in our assumptions about our lives, it seems.”

Dawn gave Tara a knowing look. The other woman's cheeks flushed, and she kept her eyes fixed pointedly on Rupert.

“Xander received a rather interesting call last night and…” Strange. Rupert couldn't imagine why he found the words so nearly impossible to say. He'd managed them to Anya last night before practically fleeing bed, turning back to his research with newfound vigor. Anything to keep his mind occupied, to keep from…

Xander caught that Rupert was failing fast, saw that Anya was hovering with the background with no intention of speaking, and the mere thought of public speech terrified Willow. Time to stand up and admit their huge mistakes.

“Funny thing,” he tried to chuckle. “See, it turns out Willow and I aren’t dating…”

A knowing smile on Dawn’s face. Brief hope on Tara’s.

“…and Rupert and Anya aren't engaged. The thing is…well, Anya and I are the ones getting married.”

“Huh?” Buffy said in blank disbelief at the illogic of that statement. Rupert and Anya were love. It was plain as day. As plain as…

“I’m afraid Xander is quite right,” Rupert admitted. “I actually found an invitation in my living room under some old mail.”

Stunned silence followed.

* * *

 _“So, my Da’s not marrying a girl half his age, then?”_

 _Shifting to a more comfortable position against Spike’s chest, Buffy frowned._

 _“They made a nice couple together,” she protested as she started drawing random patterns on the smooth skin under her fingers. “And if you had seen him… he looked really sad. I think he did have feelings for Anya.”_

 _And that was exactly why she was there, she mentally finished. Not because she had wanted to spend more time with Spike, not at all, but to inform him about what was going on with his father, so that he could go see him later to comfort him if he wanted. Seeing the vampire practically naked – or was it completely? What lay under that sheet that barely came up to his hips? – was only an unexpected bonus. Completely unexpected. Or at least that was her story, and she would stick to it._

 _Spike made a small noncommittal noise. His fingers were lazily running through her hair, and the simple motion made Buffy want to purr like he had done for her a few minutes before. He had been asleep when she had approached the bed, and when she had touched his face with light fingertips the low rumbling had erupted from his chest almost immediately._

 _“He was gloomy, alright, but what about her?” Spike asked, and the words tickle Buffy’s forehead, making her shift again to find a better position alongside him._

 _“She didn’t say much. And she kept giving Xander weird looks. Of course Xander was pretty much spooked so that might have been why.”_

* * *

When Rupert had told her, the night before, that she was engaged to someone else, Anya’s first reaction had been to laugh. Ridiculous to think that she was marrying another man when her body had reacted to Rupert’s in such a satisfactory manner. Somehow, she had trouble imagining Xander giving her orgasms as pleasant as Rupert had offered her. But her laughter had been met with a blank, slightly pained look, and she had understood that it wasn’t a joke.

Even now, though, after a night of tossing and turning alone in the too big bed, a night of thinking and trying to convince herself that it had to be better this way, she still wasn’t convinced. Xander looked like a fine person, but he didn’t seem to her like the kind of person she’d want to marry. Or who would want to marry her. Right now, he was explaining how they had learned about the mix-up, how Willow and he had always felt like something wasn’t right, and his chuckling sounded nervous, almost hysterical. As for the way he kept glancing at her… she wasn’t the only one who had doubts about all of this, that much was obvious.

Across the room, Xander was having similar thoughts. He offered Anya a wan smile. He really tried to think of her as his fiancée, but – frankly – he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the concept.

She was pretty enough, yeah, but he knew her even less than he knew Willow. In fact, he didn’t think the two of them had ever said more than a few sentences to each other. And getting married to a total stranger? It was just crazy…

Although, strangely, Xander had found it somewhat appropriate when Rupert and Anya had been engaged. And, hey, maybe it would even work with Buffy and Spike given the way she was staring off into space dreamily.

But the fact that he and Willow were over was something of a relief for Xander. It felt too odd being in a relationship with someone he didn’t know, didn’t remember. It just hadn’t worked with Willow – well, partly because she was gay and all – and it didn’t seem to be heading anywhere with Anya.

Belatedly, Xander wondered if there was something strange about him that he didn’t seem to be as eager to dive into a relationship. Because Willow and Tara seemed to be sharing glances now, too.

Or maybe the right person just happened not to be one of this bunch…

But, then again, they could get their memories back tomorrow, and this would all be moot.

“I see no reason not to begin as we planned yesterday,” Rupert went on, sticking strictly to the task at hand. So much easier not to drown in questions, regrets, and wishes that way. “We’ve uncovered several memory spells and means of testing whether they’ve been used upon us. Hopefully, without bunnies this time.” He gave Anya a pointed look.

She made an offended noise before realizing he was kidding and giving him a wicked smile. And then they suddenly both remembered that they weren’t supposed to be flirting anymore and looked pointedly away from each other.

* * *

 _“That’s it? As easy as that?” Spike asked with an incredulous snort. “Oops, we made a mistake, let’s move on?”_

 _Raising her head from its comfortable spot on Spike’s chest, Buffy gave him an annoyed look._

 _“It wasn’t easy. Have you even heard a word of what I…”_

 _Cool lips pressing hard against hers made her forget what it was exactly she had been about to say; the teasing tongue that ran along the seam of her lips before slipping in to greet her own was almost enough to make her give up on the notion of taking things slow. Spike, however, remembered, and broke the kiss with a soft sigh._

 _The Slayer’s heart was beating furiously, a sweet music to Spike’s ears. It was more than nice to know exactly what effect he had on her. And she affected him just as much._

 _“Was the end of your meeting, then?” he asked, returning to a somewhat safe topic._

 _“The end? If only! Your father insisted to go through a few of his tests right then and there. So boring.”_

 _What she didn’t say was that during the whole time she had been daydreaming about him and desperate to find an excuse to leave._

 _“He didn’t find anything, but he said he would test more theories tomorrow,” she continued. “And then, we had to figure out where Willow belonged. And that was one more little surprise.”_

* * *

Rupert was finishing what he had promised would be his last test for the day when it dawned on Willow that she wasn’t going to go back to Xander’s apartment, and that she had no clue where she was supposed to go.

“Where am I going to sleep tonight?” she blurted out, alarmed.

Glances were exchanged around the room, and Willow noticed in particular the pointed way Dawn was looking at Tara.

“I think… I think you may live with…with us,” the older woman announced in a voice that grew quieter and quieter. “There were extra clothes. And mail. For you.”

Tara was blushing ever so slightly, head bowed and hiding behind her hair. Willow felt a pang of hope run through her. Could it be…?

“Now that Spike’s found his home and all, we’ve got extra room,” Dawn chimed right in, grinning. If she’d had even the slightest doubts before, now she knew she was right about Willow and Tara being meant to be together. This was just so cool. Well, aside from the fact that things hadn’t turned out too well for Rupert, Anya, and Xander. But still…

“You’re totally welcome,” Buffy spoke up. “If you wake up early enough, you can even have my bed since I seem to…” Bright red flushed across her cheeks. “… _Patrol_ all night, anyway…”

She turned pointedly away from the group, embarrassed by thoughts of what she’d actually spent most of last night doing. _Hey, that was patrolling in a way. I very firmly established that there were no demons in Spike’s mouth. Or his bellybutton. Or his…_ The last thought caused her to blush again. And, really, from what she’d felt through his jeans, she _wasn’t_ all that sure there wasn’t a demon in his jeans. _Ooh, I should investigate that on tonight’s patrol…_

She blushed all over again at that. _Bad Buffy mind! Bad!_

Willow watched Buffy chain blush over patrol. Huh. How very odd…

Tara caught her eye and winked, giggling under her breath as Buffy’s obvious fantasizing.

Suddenly, Willow realized what Buffy’s ‘patrolling’ was actually about. She smiled back at Tara, amused by this little secret communication they’d shared together. And also somewhat amazed by how they seemed to be on the exact same wavelength…

* * *

 _“Spilled our li’l secret to the lesbians then, did you?”_

 _Buffy sulked. “It’s all your fault,” she insisted. “You were being all naughty and seductive in my head. And I don’t care what Rupert says. That has to be some sort of evil vampire power.”_

 _“Oh yeah, I took time out from my busy nap to insert a little striptease into your daydreams,” Spike retorted sarcastically._

 _She looked up at him, amused and irritated all at once. God, she didn’t even know it was possible for all these buttons to be pushed at the same time._

 _“You’re such a pig,” she informed him softly, placing a gentle kiss on his brow._

 _A little purr rumbled through his chest where her hand was caressing him. The way she was acting, he’d think a pig was the most wonderful, sexiest thing in the universe…_

 _“’M a pig, but you still came straight to me after your little fun at the shop, didn’t you? Did you run, too?”_

 _His smug smirk was completely intolerable and Buffy just had to do something and wipe it off. A kiss – deep, searing, soul-shattering – did the trick quite nicely. And prevented her from admitting that, yes, she had run almost all the way, only slowing down when she had entered the graveyard so she wouldn’t be out of breath._

 _Although out of breath was certainly a fine thing to be._

* * *

“Can we go now?” Buffy asked, not for the first time, as Rupert had immersed himself once more in a thick leather-bound volume.

He looked at her with a slight puzzled frown, then at the rest of the assembled group.

“Oh. I suppose you may, yes,” he conceded. “I’ll stay here a while longer, check out a few more possibilities. It would certainly be good for all of you to come back again tomorrow.”

There were murmurs of assent, and the young people trickled out. Rupert watched them go, distractedly replying to their goodbyes. Something tightened in his chest when Anya, smiling a little sadly, glanced back at him before walking out.

He didn’t think he would go back to his flat that night, or not for more than a quick shower and a change of clothes. The idea of being alone in there was depressing.

The bell above the door signaled that he was now alone, and with a sigh he returned to his research.

* * *

Shaking her head in disbelief, Dawn watched her sister walk away, supposedly to start her patrol early. Who was she trying to fool? They all knew where she was heading; Dawn was ready to bet on that as much as she was ready to bet that Buffy was off to see Spike.

She let out a wistful sigh at the thought. If only Spike hadn’t been so clearly whipped…

A few steps behind her, Willow and Tara were walking side by side. Xander had offered them all a ride, and he had seemed somewhat disappointed when they had assured him the house wasn’t far.

“So you see, right from the start something felt weird,” Willow explained to Tara, hoping with all her heart that the other girl would believe her. “He slept on the couch, and we were so awkward around each other. I just knew he wasn’t for me, you know?”

Tara smiled softly as she nodded.

“I know what you mean,” she murmured, and Willow felt a wave of warmth run over her.

Despite her disappointment that the world’s sexiest vamp was completely taken by her sister, Dawn couldn’t help but cheer up at the sight of the two women. Shy smiles and blushes. Hands brushing casually as they walked together down the pavement.

Dawn had just _known_ they’d be perfect together.

Now, if only Rupert and Anya would figure out that they belonged together, too. They’d both looked miserable ever since they’d made their discovery, and Dawn couldn’t help but wish they’d never found out the stupid truth.

Well, except for the fact that now Willow and Tara could be happy together…

Dawn shook her head. It seemed like every time they discovered something new about their past lives, things got more complicated. She wondered if maybe the memory wipe had been a sort of blessing in disguise. Because, from what she’d seen, every time they learned something new, it just made more people unhappy…

* * *

“Here we are,” Xander announced nervously. “Home sweet home.”

“Nice,” Anya managed with a tight-lipped smile, looking at the room around her.

The ride in the car had been awkwardly silent. Really, what could she say to the man she’d just discovered was her fiancé the night after she’d had steamy sex with another man she’d _thought_ was her fiancé? Anya shook her head. She was quite convinced she deserved extreme monetary compensation for all this stress. Certainly, she could’ve made quite a bit of money in the Magic Box today if she hadn’t been torn apart by this emotional fiasco…

“So, yeah…” Xander’s fractured laugh split the silence of the apartment. This was reminding him all too well of his disastrous ‘dating’ period with Willow. “This is home, I guess.”

Anya wandered through the apartment in a curious search. And, even as she found the clothing and belongings she’d been missing, she couldn’t help but think that she’d felt a lot more at home with Rupert…

* * *

Rupert sat back at blinked, trying to focus on the text before him. He’d known from the first that work was the only way to fight back the barrage of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had important research to do and, with it, no time to think about a certain delightful blonde and how he’d lost her.

Except…

For some reason the words on the page were blurring.

He removed his glasses, wiped at the lenses, and tried desperately to ignore the fact that his cheeks were wet. After all, he’d only known Anya for a few short days. He’d certainly enjoyed their time together, but it was clear now that they’d made a mistake and…

Shaking his head, he got up, knocking the chair over behind him. This was absurd. More than absurd, he absolutely couldn’t afford to cave in to weakness at the moment.

The work must always come first…

Or so he was trying to convince himself, anyway. However, there was no rule he could think of that prevented him for getting a little liquid help for his labors.

He found the keys to the cabinet on the wall behind the counter without difficulty. Fumbled with the lock before opening it. He pulled out the first bottle – a fine bottle of whiskey – and found it empty.

He frowned, wondering about that. If he and Anya weren’t breaking up, why _had_ he been about to leave town? And had he been the one to indulge in so much drink?

He shook the thoughts off, reached in back for the second bottle far to the rear of the cabinet. Brow furrowed in surprise when his hand bumped the wooden panel, and he felt it move aside.

Curious now, he removed the liquor bottles, looked into the hidden panel. A large, leather-bound tome lay within, and Rupert carefully removed it.

It wasn’t dusty, he was surprised to note. In fact, it seemed worn with regular use. Flipping open the cover, he read the title inscription in what he had quickly relearned was his own handwriting.

“The Watcher’s Diary of Rupert Giles: 1997 – ”

Well. Now, this was a fascinating development, indeed…

* * *

Getting out of bed hadn’t exactly been easy, but their kissing and light touching had come to the point where it was a choice between stopping completely and forgetting their ‘take things slow’ vow. Still, Spike couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t warned her of that fact and simply let things run their course. He was an English gentleman down to his very soul, no doubt there.

His Slayer climbed the ladder and left him alone in the lower level, giving him some privacy for a much needed cold shower. The accommodations weren’t exactly luxurious, with basically a pipe sticking out of a wall and a flimsy curtain, but it was sufficient. Getting clothes on was next, and the lack of variety in his wardrobe made the choice rather easy. Black jeans, black t-shirt, a blood-red shirt, his boots, and he was ready to join Buffy upstairs. The appreciative glance she gave him when he stepped up was enough to make him want to grin stupidly.

“I’m going to grab a bite and then we can go,” he suggested, gesturing toward the fridge. She nodded, but didn’t avert her gaze as he had expected. Watching him drink blood probably wasn’t _that_ appealing, but she didn’t seem to mind.

 _How can he make something as gross look so sexy?_ Buffy wondered as she watched him have his dinner. Certainly, it should have made her lose her appetite rather than remind her she hadn’t eaten since the pizza slice she had had for lunch.

“Do you have any money?” she asked him after checking her own pockets.

“A bit. Why?”

“Because I think you ought to treat your girlfriend to dinner. Or at least ice cream.”

His gaze lit with a bright flame, and Buffy realized belatedly what she had said. The word had just come out so easily… Girlfriend. Of course she was his girlfriend. She wasn’t the kind of person who cuddled with complete strangers – or at least, she didn’t think she was. And he wasn’t a complete stranger anyway. Quickly going through her diary had proved it without doubt. Almost a year had passed since Spike had declared his feelings, and Buffy’s excitement at the time had been quite clear on the page, incomplete sentences and exclamation points telling more than the words themselves, which had been largely incoherent comments like ‘oh god’ and ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ She would have to find time to read more of it and see how their initial dating had gone.

“Ready?” he inquired, smiling, as he slipped his duster on.

Buffy returned the smile. She had this feeling that patrols would have been awfully dull if she hadn’t had him to accompany her.


	9. Chapter 9

“That’s…that’s the room.”

Tara’s cheeks were burning as she pushed the door open and motioned for Willow to enter. She had been about to say ‘our room’, because the twin bed, two bathrobes and shared dresser were heavy hints, but she had hesitated and changed her mind at the last second. On their way to the house, Willow had been rather insistent about how she and Xander hadn’t slept in the same bed, and Tara was wondering if it meant she’d want to sleep in a separate room here too. Buffy had suggested Willow could use her bed when she patrolled late, but there hadn’t been a clear decision made on that.

“It’s a nice room,” Willow said, and the smile was audible in her words. “I like it.”

Oddly pleased by the comment, Tara dared a glance straight at the other girl, and Willow’s smile brightened.

“Your clothes are in there.” She pointed to the dresser. “First and third drawer. The others are mine.”

Tara’s last word was no louder than a murmur, and Willow almost had trouble catching it. Her friend – they had to be friends, very good friends at least, if they shared a room, right? – seemed very shy, and she had had several attacks of blushing on their way to the house, to the point that Willow was dying to know what she was thinking exactly.

“I can’t wait to get out of these clothes!” she said excitedly as she pulled the first drawer open. And finally realized what she had said exactly. It was her turn to blush.

“I mean…they’re Anya’s clothes, and they don’t feel right on me, and now I have my own clothes here and I think I’m babbling.”

She forced herself to shut up and was relieved to discover Tara was smiling gently.

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable, then. I’ll go start some dinner. And I could get the couch ready if… I mean… Where do you want to sleep tonight?”

Again with the murmurs, and this time the blushes were shared. Xander hadn’t asked her what she thought at his apartment, simply told her he’d give her some privacy, but she would probably have suggested it if he hadn’t. Here though… She had no problem with the idea of sharing Tara’s bed.

“It’s kinda big,” she commented, gesturing toward the bed between them. “Maybe…if you don’t mind…”

“I don’t!” Tara said quickly. “I mean, it is really big, and if you don’t mind either…”

“I don’t,” Willow assured her.

* * *

 _While, in itself, Buffy’s training is severely lacking – despite numerous efforts on my part to instill better discipline, all of which to this date have been rejected out of hand, or at least greatly compromised – her innovation in battle situations and her surprising but characteristic quick wits have, on several occasions—_

Rupert removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Good lord. He hadn’t _actually_ written that turgid prose, had he? If nothing else, slogging through the endless loops of subordinate clauses that seemed so characteristic of his earlier journal entries distracted him from the matter at hand. Although not enough that he hadn’t downed a good portion of the whiskey bottle…

“Is this what you old folks are doin’ now?” A snide voice cut in. “Sneakin’' off into the back room with your liquor and thousand-page tomes?”

“Ah, could that be the sympathetic voice of my dear son?” Rupert retorted sarcastically.

“Regrettably,” Spike agreed, pulling out one of the chairs from the research table and turning it around backward before sitting down. Hands folded over the chair-back, he studied his father. “Anything interestin’?”

“My old Watcher’s Diary, actually.”

Spike raised an eyebrow.

“Which, yes, is completely uninteresting unless you feel like slogging through hours of overly-analytical prose. Or you find it amusing that Buffy used chopsticks as her weapon of choice for a period in 1997.”

“Chopsticks?” Spike chuckled, peering at the text. “Exciting stuff, then.”

Rupert managed a tight-lipped smile. “Quite. Speaking of Buffy…” He trailed off pointedly.

Spike ducked his head, studying the table before him intently. “She dropped me off here on patrol. Said I should check up on my old man what with your girl off boffing another bloke.”

“At least one of you has some tact, then.” Rupert couldn’t help but shake his head.

Spike gave him a small smile in response, and really Rupert couldn’t help but smile back.

“How you doin’, then?” Spike grumbled reluctantly, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and toying with it. Huh. That was odd. He hadn’t even realized he smoked until now. He would’ve thought he’d have cravings or something.

“You are _not_ going to smoke that,” Rupert informed him matter-of-factly, seconding Spike’s thoughts.

“Why not? Worried I’ll get deader? Oh, and nice attempt at avoidin’ my question.”

Rupert should’ve known that any son of his would be too clever to fall for that trick. “I thought so,” he agreed before sighing. “It’s…rough…”

Spike nodded. “Can imagine. If some past wank lost me Buffy…” He trailed off, unable to even complete that thought.

“How are you and my rather reluctant charge faring?” Rupert inquired. “Aside from her daydreaming throughout our research sessions, I haven’t seen either of you lately.”

If Spike could’ve blushed, he would’ve. Come to think of it, he didn’t know whether he blushed. He could check in a mirror, except he’d discovered yesterday that he had no reflection. Damn.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Rupert cut him off. “Yes, I am aware that I’m changing topics once more, but – frankly – there’s not much more to say about my personal life than that this moment is lower than I’d ever believed I can go. Hearing that at least my son is faring better than I am can only serve to make things look less bleak.”

Adding up his father’s tone, words, and underlying sadness, Spike could see how right Buffy had been to insist he ought to come by the shop. One more item on the list of things to love about her.

“I am,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “Faring better, that is. _We_ are.”

Rupert’s smile seemed genuine as he repeated. “We? That far along, are you?”

“I am not going to answer that,” Spike chuckled. “I may not remember a damn thing, but I’m quite sure sharing details and positions is off the list of topics you and I discuss.”

Seemingly flustered, Rupert busied himself with cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief. “I certainly wasn’t asking for that many details,” he mumbled.

Spike’s grin softened. “We’re doing good,” he said quietly, suddenly enthralled by a bit of dirt under his nail. “Taking things slow, but good. She’s an amazing woman.”

“I trust that she is, yes. And taking things slow is certainly the best thing to do in the circumstances.”

A bit of dry irony had Spike looking up again, wondering if his father might himself not have been so circumspect. That would explain why he seemed to be taking the hit so hard even after only knowing the girl for a couple of days. But before he could inquire about it, Rupert stood and briefly squeezed Spike’s shoulder.

“I am glad for you. For the two of you.”

Something in Spike wanted to find the words to make his father feel better, but nothing he could come up with sounded good enough. Was there even anything to say?

“I think I’ll get home,” Rupert announced as he took a few steps and stretched. “I’ll never get through that awful prose,” he gestured at the Watcher’s diary, “without some food and a cold shower to wake me up.”

“I’ll drive you,” Spike offered instantly, pointedly glancing at the whiskey bottle when Rupert started protesting. An embarrassed nod, a few lights switched off, and they were out of the store.

* * *

“Wow,” Dawn blinked in mock shock. “You’re home.” Frowning, she circled Buffy slowly, peering around each side of her. “Don’t look now, but you lost your vampire hip-attachment.”

“Very funny.” Buffy’s eyes narrowed, and she made a half-hearted swat at her giggling sister.

With a flounce of gangly limbs and long hair, Dawn landed on the couch once more. “So, where is lover boy?” she teased, making little smooching sounds.

“Have you always been this much of a brat?” Buffy grumbled, sitting down in one of the armchairs. She raised a skeptical eyebrow when she saw Dawn had been watching cartoons.

“According to my diary, _you’re_ the bratty one,” Dawn retorted.

Buffy just shook her head. “Where are Willow and Tara?” she asked curiously, taking a handful of Doritos from bowl on the table and munching at them slowly.

A conspiratorial little giggle escaped Dawn’s lips. “Upstairs.” She winked.

“Upstairs?” Buffy repeated, confused.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Lesbians? Flirting?” she hinted.

Buffy’s brow furrowed. “Willow and Tara are lesbians?” she asked in disbelief, before vaguely remembering that Spike had mentioned it too.

“Spike better be the world’s best kisser to make up for how oblivious you’re being,” Dawn said sadly.

Buffy’s lips couldn’t help but curve into a smile in response.

“OK, TMI…”

“Like I’m going to discuss my boyfriend with my kid sister,” Buffy retorted.

“‘Kid’?” Dawn repeated, offended.

They exchanged angry glares, froze, and started giggling.

“How much you wanna bet we have this argument all the time?” Buffy laughed.

“Undoubtedly,” Dawn agreed, finally managing to quiet her mirth.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching a seemingly endless run of cereal commercials.

“Buffy?” Dawn finally broke the silence.

“Hmm?”

“Since, y’know, I am kind of a kid…” Dawn took a deep breath. “Where do you think our parents are?”

Immediately, Buffy’s eyes sought the pictures on the mantlepiece. She had noticed before one of them on which the two sisters surrounded a blonde woman who looked old enough to be their mother. When she looked toward Dawn again, Buffy could see that she had noticed the picture too.

“Think she’s our mom?” Buffy asked quietly.

Dawn shrugged. “Dunno. There are a couple of pictures of her in my room, so maybe. Do you…”

She paused, and Buffy encouraged her with a smile.

“Do you feel anything, when you look at the picture?” she finished, her voice no louder than a whisper. “I mean, you kinda remember being with Spike, don’t you? So if she’s our mother…”

Sighing, Buffy shook her head. She wasn’t sure how to explain her feelings as far as Spike was concerned. She did not remember him per se, it was more an impression; being with him felt _right_. Just like being around Dawn felt familiar. She had no such connection to the woman in the picture. But then, it was only a picture.

“I wonder where she is,” she mused out loud. “I mean, she can’t be living here, there’s no bed left. And I guess our dad doesn’t either. Did you find any picture of him?”

Dawn’s sad look was answer enough. “I found my diary, though,” she said very softly. “I read some of it. There are a lot of ‘I miss Mom’. Especially at the beginning. Do you think she’s…”

Again, Buffy knew what was in her mind, probably because she was thinking the same thing.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“But wouldn’t we feel sad if she was…” Dawn swallowed heavily, and finally let out the word they were both thinking. “…dead? Even without remembering her, we should feel _something_ , right? Why don’t I feel anything?”

There was the hint of tears in Dawn’s voice, and Buffy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to her. She had no answers to give her. Maybe if they both read more of their respective diaries, they would get an idea of where their parents could be.

“I’m here,” she murmured, running her fingers through Dawn’s hair. “Not going anywhere, not abandoning you.”

* * *

“You finding everything all right?” Xander asked, standing nervously in the bedroom doorway.

Anya hastily stuffed the teddy she’d found back into the dresser drawer and tried to smile innocently. “Yeah, what with it being in the drawers. You know, since they’re clothes.”

“Right,” Xander nodded and tried to chuckle.

Frankly, Anya didn’t know what was wrong with her. When she’d woken up and learned she was (supposedly) engaged to Rupert, she’d leapt upon him as quickly as she could. Yet, with Xander… It wasn’t that he was any less attractive than Rupert. He was young and muscular and had big brown puppy dog eyes. Anya was even willing to bet he had a nicely large penis. But, for some reason, she just didn’t seem to be interested in having orgasms with him.

Maybe because someone else had caught her eye first this time…

She shook her head. She was engaged to Xander, had obviously been very attached to him before she’d lost her memory; she’d had a wonderful night with Rupert and had enjoyed his company. But now it was very clear what she had to do…

Giving Xander a small smile, she sat on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside her…

* * *

Spike walked in on what, undoubtedly, was about to degenerate into Kleeneces, chocolate ice cream, and endless repeats of sappy romance movies. “Hem!” he coughed pointedly, hanging up his duster on the coat hook by the front door.

Dawn opened her eyes from where she and Buffy were knotted up in a sisterly hug. She smiled, then winked at him. “I’m way sleepy now,” she informed Buffy, who was still oblivious to her boyfriend’s sudden arrival. “I need to go to my room and bury my head under the pillow. With earplugs.”

Buffy gave her an eloquent ‘huh’ look, and her sister rapidly scuttled off. She turned to watch Dawn go and caught sight of the vampire, looking typically sexy, lounging against the door frame.

“Spike!” she said in surprise. “You’re supposed to be off…consoling…” She waved vaguely.

Wicked smirk in face, he sauntered over toward her. “Got dad to go home and get some rest. Honestly, that man’s got the most stubborn, single-minded streak when it comes to research…”

He was close now, so close that if she breathed hard enough their bodies would brush. “And did you inherit that little streak?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Not ‘bout the research,” he teased.

“About what, then?” she teased right back.

“About this, for example.”

He leaned in, closing the short distance between them to kiss her. Even after spending the afternoon with him, cuddling and kissing, the simple touch of his lips sent shivers down Buffy’s back. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss at the same time as she pulled him closer to her, needing to feel more of him once again. He seemed to share the same thought because his right hand found its way under her shirt and caressed her side, slowly sliding up until he reached and cupped her breast. She broke the kiss and gasped, casting a quick look toward the stairs.

“Not here,” she hissed. “Dawn, Willow and Tara are up there. They could come down at any time.”

The frustrated look that fluttered on his features matched her own and was enough that Buffy considered inviting him up to her room. Before she could suggest it however he plopped down on the sofa, pulling her with him so that she was sitting on his lap. She let out a surprised and undignified yelp that made him chuckle.

“You are terrible,” she informed him sulkily, and he merely nodded.

“I think that’s part of being a vampire and all,” he shrugged.

She was about to retort that it was certainly why she staked vampires when he started shifting and the feel of something hard against her thigh distracted her. It had to be rather uncomfortable, she mused, to be trapped in these tight jeans. If only they hadn’t been so exposed…

As if answering her thoughts, Spike unfolded the blanket that had been on the back of the sofa and covered them with it. Immediately, his hand was slipping once more under her shirt and finding her breast again.

“Bad vampire,” she murmured as his fingers battled with the front clasp of her bra. She didn’t try to stop him however, and instead rested her head against his shoulder. There was just enough room between them for her to press her hand against his crotch.

“Very bad,” he agreed with an appreciative purr as he arched into her touch.

The clasp finally undone, his hand reverently discovered one mound of flesh then the other, for the first time without the barrier of clothing. A skillful thumb circled her nipples, shifting from one to the other and back, and shots of pleasure ran through Buffy. A moan threatened to escape her lips, and she muffled it against his throat.

“So bloody hot,” he whispered, and she could only agree. Yes, he was making her hot, so hot that she craved his cool touch. Hesitating a little, she took his hand and led it down, to the fastening of her pants. He took the hint and undid the button, but then paused. She was dimly wondering why and about to voice her protest when a small thrust into her hand told her what he was waiting for. Fumbling a little, she unfastened the button of his jeans, then carefully slid down the zipper as he did the same to her.

A harsh gasp escaped his lips as she touched him. She grinned with a sudden feeling of power and stroked him lightly.

Blue eyes gone black with desire locked with hers, and his fingers found their way inside her panties and rubbed slowly around her clit.

“What happened to takin’ it slow?” he asked huskily.

“This is slow,” she insisted, encircling him with her hand and sliding up and down with agonizing slowness.

He groaned. “Killin’ me here…” One clever finger found its way inside her.

“Oh.” She gasped and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

“This good for tonight?” he murmured.

“Yeah…” she agreed. “Nice and slow.”

“Sweet that way.” His fingers curled inside her, causing a wave of pleasure to visibly pulse through her body.

Her hand squeezed him gently, and he cried out. Quickly, her lips covered his in a kiss. “Shh…”

He nodded but kept kissing her, drawing her deeper into him – and him deeper into her. Buffy sighed and collapsed against him as pleasure suffused her body.

Spike came only moments later, lips pressed against her throat to silence his cry of ecstasy.

And one unified thought overwhelmed both their minds at that moment:

 _Oh god, this has to be love…_

* * *

Rupert opened the door to his flat with a weary sigh. His son had offered good advice after all; he was exhausted.

Dropping books haphazardly on the coffee table, he turned to the stairs and his bedroom and…

“About time you got home.”

Rupert blinked, removed his glasses, and looked again. “Anya?”

“I’ve been waiting for over an hour. And the bed’s all cold and big without you,” she complained.

“W-What are you doing here?” Surely he hadn’t already fallen asleep, and this was all some wonderful dream?

“Well, I had to stop by Xander’s to pick up my clothes. So I sat him down on the bed and explained how it felt really good when you put your penis in my vagina—”

Rupert couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of what Xander’s expression must’ve been like. And, of course, he blushed a little at her very flattering portrayal.

“—And he agreed that whatever feelings we had before seem rather irrelevant with our memories gone. So he took me home.”

Rupert blinked slowly.

“Here,” she added impatiently. “Now, are you coming to bed?”

A slow grin lit up his face. A wicked smirk worthy of Spike any day.

“Are you all right?” Anya asked, puzzled as he stalked quietly toward her.

“Never been better,” he assured her before catching her up in his arms.

She squealed in surprise before holding on tight. “Oh, Rupert…” It was a mantra she'd repeat quite often that night.


	10. Chapter 10

“Mmm…” Anya lay back against the pillows, body fully satiated, mind relaxed by the rise and fall of Rupert’s voice.

“‘ _I believe the final destruction of the Master’s bones has relieved Buffy of whatever demons (metaphorical, of course) were plaguing her after her near-death experience. She seems active and capable once more, and – although I debate whether to rue or laud this fact – her rather unique sense of humor has returned._ ’”

Anya smiled as Rupert read aloud to her from his diary. They’d managed to exhaust even her libido last night and this morning, but being read to in bed was almost as nice in some ways. She was beginning to wonder why she’d bothered to pass up this perfectly delightful companion back before the memory loss. Puzzling, if somewhat intriguing.

Unfortunately, Rupert’s journal was entirely dedicated to work. His own son hadn’t even garnered a mention yet, let alone Anya.

As if fate itself had been circling in, just waiting for that thought, Rupert suddenly reached a passage that caused him to stutter and frown.

It took Anya a few seconds to notice that the reading had stopped, and she twisted naked in the sheets to look at him. “Rupie?”

Slowly, voice shaking with suppressed emotion, he began to read this new entry. “‘ _Th-The new Master in town appears in the Watcher’s Diaries as William the Bloody, although Buffy informs me he calls himself Spike now. I-I warned her of the great danger. Spike has killed two Slayers in the past, and he has made it perfectly clear that he anticipates that Buffy will be the third he…murders…_ ’”

Rupert’s eyes stopped on that word, ‘murders’, and he couldn’t go any further. It wasn’t possible. It just couldn’t be. He refused to believe it. He had been so sure…

“Rupert?”

Anya’s worried murmur, the soothing hand rubbing his arm brought him back to the immediate present and gloomy reality. He had been so sure about Anya too, but what he had thought was a long established relationship had turned out to be completely new.

Could he really believe that Randy – Spike – wasn’t his son? That he was in fact far older than Giles himself? That he wasn’t the good vampire they had thought he was, but rather was a ruthless killer who was after Buffy’s blood?

Somehow, it was hard to reconcile this image of Slayer of Slayers with the almost shy, seemingly young man who had tried his best to comfort his father the previous night.

“Rupert?” Anya insisted, and this time her hand cupped his chin and made him look at her. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, although all right was the last thing he was feeling.

“I’ll…I’ll go make some tea,” he mumbled. “Why don’t you get some more sleep?”

Without waiting for her answer, he rose from the bed, grabbed a robe and went to the first floor, taking the diary with him. Forgetting all about the tea, he sat down on the sofa and opened the diary to where he had stopped reading. With growing urgency, he started skimming the text, stopping every time he ran across the word ‘Spike’.

From the top of the staircase, a sheet draped around her, Anya watched him worriedly for a few minutes. It had to be a terrible blow to discover that Spike wasn’t his son only a day after they had found out she and he weren’t really engaged. But things had turned out all right for them, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Spike. Silent, she went downstairs and curled on the sofa against his side, letting him know that she was there for him.

It was going to be a long day…

* * *

“Spike, wake up!” Buffy prodded her vampire lover in sudden alarm.

“Mmf,” he countered eloquently, burying his nose in her hair.

She rose from where they’d fallen asleep together on the couch and made a face. Ugh. As romantic as falling asleep in each other’s arms was, she was about to die from the crick in her neck…and back…and legs…and pretty much everywhere else.

“It’s almost dawn,” she warned him, poking at his shoulder before taking a long, much-needed stretch. And, oops, realizing she’d forgotten to close up her pants after last night. She was unpleasantly sticky now, but no amount of discomfort could restrain the excitement that pulsed through her veins, the smile that split across her face every time she looked at him. She did pull her jeans on properly again, of course.

Spike just lay back and watched, a low purr rumbling through his chest. Which somehow had become completely naked at some point during the night.

Buffy licked her lips at the sight of his bare, muscled body. _World’s greatest eye candy? Check. Hot, passionate kisses? Check. Funny, snarky sense of humor? Double check. Sweet, cuddly disposition once I work my way through that prickly bad boy armor…_

At that moment, the reasons why they weren’t having sex right then and there completely eluded her.

“Not sure how much shelter I need, really,” Spike commented reluctantly, gazing out the window at the soft blue light that was just beginning to tint to horizon.

 _Oh yeah. Boyfriend getting…_ Buffy frowned. Did vampire dust in the sunlight like they did when she staked them? Or was it more of a burning up thing? Anyway, Spike out in daylight was bad. So was Spike getting dressed, but that was inevitable.

“Hey, at least you’ve got your big comfy bed back home,” Buffy commented softly, slipping one hand around his waist as she pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

“Mmm…” He purred against her and let out the cutest little whimpering noise when she pulled away.

“Sun. Vampire. Bad,” she reminded him lightly.

“Buffy. Naked. Good,” he retorted cheekily, pulling her in for another kiss.

She was helpless against him this time. Really, she was. There was absolutely nothing any sensible girl could do but nibble at that succulent lower lip of his, taste that dexterous tongue, caress every inch of his gorgeous – but lamentably clothed – body with her hands. She decided then and there that the sun was cruel and unusual for pulling them apart.

“Don’t wanna go,” he finally murmured reluctantly, stroking her cheek with his knuckles.

Her fingers wrapped around his, holding him to her for one last second. “I know…” She sighed, then smiled wickedly. “But,” she countered, “if you come back tonight… Say, eight-ish? We’ll have a couple hours before patrol and…” She gazed up the stairs in the direction of her room pointedly.

A naughty glint lit up in the back of his eyes. “You suggesting what I think you are, luv?” he asked carefully.

“We talked last night. And yesterday. And the day before that, and… OK, so a lot of it was kissing, but…” She pouted. “I think I’ve taken things slow as long as I can stand to.”

A shiver ran through his body at the promise in her eyes. “Tonight, then,” he whispered, voice rasping. “’S a date.”

“A date,” she agreed, reluctantly releasing his hand as he stepped away from her and toward the door.

The warning tingles along his spine at the coming dawn were getting downright antsy now. With a final, sudden parting kiss, he was out the door.

Buffy watched him go with lazy satisfaction at first before realizing something. “You forgot your coat,” she shouted down the street at him.

He turned back to spy his duster in her hand. “’ll pick it up tonight,” he called back. “Give you a bedmate in the meantime.”

Buffy stroked the black leather as he vanished from slight. A smile on her face, she closed the door and took a deep breath of Spike musk. Oh yes, she’d be sleeping with this for certain.

And, climbing the stairs, there was no doubt in Buffy’s mind that this would be the most memorable night of her life. Even if that memory spell had never been cast…

* * *

 _Spike’s obsession with Buffy seems to have taken a disturbing turn. He has somehow convinced himself that he loves her and declared his intentions last night. Buffy was properly disgusted, and he responded by chaining her in his basement before his warped shrine and trying to force her to—_

Rupert stopped reading, feeling mildly ill. Good god. He hadn’t imagined matters could get worse that those first frightful pages of Spike’s past, but everything he read made him sicker. _What on earth have we done, allowing such a monster into our midst…?_

Not for the first time, he considered calling Buffy and making sure she was all right. Not for the first time, he dismissed the notion. If Spike was truly amnesiac as they all were, they had to be safe, at least for the moment. And if he was simply faking it, and after reading so much about him Rupert was beginning to suspect it might be the case, as long as he believed that they didn’t know about him he would certainly remain non-violent. Or so Rupert hoped. In any case, he had to tell Buffy in person, show her the diary. She might not believe him without proofs. He would inform her and the others of his discovery when they came to the shop later that day, and he wanted to be completely ready by then.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the book again where he had stopped reading. Anya shifted against him, snoring lightly; her presence was somehow soothing, comforting, even if she was asleep. Even if he knew better now, he still caught himself every now and then feeling of Spike as of his son, and every time he reminded himself of the truth the wound was reopened.

Quickly scanning the text, he found the next mention of Spike:

 _While Buffy and I were on a spiritual retreat in the desert – more about this when I will have had some time to reflect on what she reluctantly told me happened – Spike once again proved himself a master of chaos. He had a robot made that mimics Buffy appearance and speech, and I do not even want to lower myself and imagine what he used it for._

 _A robot?_ Rupert shook his head. The vampire seemed ready to do anything to get what he wanted; certainly he wouldn’t be afraid of robbing them all of their memories if that helped him to get closer to Buffy. Rupert could only be more and more convinced of Spike’s culpability in the matter…

* * *

Tara had awoken a few minutes earlier, but she hadn’t moved a muscle yet. And she didn’t plan to move anytime soon.

The previous night, Willow had already been in bed when Tara had emerged from the bathroom, and she had taken her cue from the redhead and stayed as close to the edge of the bed as she could without risking falling. They must have moved during the night, though, because both of them were now in the center of the bed, Willow’s arm thrown over Tara’s waist as she lay on her side. They shared the same pillow, and as she had opened her eyes the first thing Tara had seen had been Willow’s face. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and Tara itched to reach up and tuck it back behind Willow’s ear, but she didn’t want to wake her, not quite yet. Resting like this was too comfortable to let go before she absolutely had to.

Eventually – and too soon – Willow’s eyes fluttered open, and Tara was somehow relieved when she smiled.

“Hey…”

“Hey,” Tara smiled back shyly.

Willow inched away, blushing as she did so. It had felt nice being wrapped around Tara, but they really shouldn’t be cuddling like they were… Willow paused in her thoughts, considered that. _Were_ they girlfriends?

“So, um…” Willow fumbled for something to say, and her eyes alighted on the clock. “Wow, it’s late.”

“Yeah,” Tara agreed, reluctantly sitting up. “W-We have to be at the Magic Box later this afternoon…”

“Right…” Willow bit her lip, debating the pros and cons of her new girlfriend theory. Dawn had mentioned yesterday, in extremely suspicious passing, that Tara was gay. Willow figured it had probably been a hint.

“So I’m going to take a shower, then,” Tara broke what she felt was becoming an uncomfortable silence by getting out of bed.

“O-OK,” Willow replied, slightly disappointed.

“You can… I mean, feel free to look around. Since some of this stuff is probably yours.”

“Right.”

Blushing, Tara grabbed her bathrobe and headed for the bathroom.

Willow lay in bed for a few minutes, listening to the water running. The sheets smelled of Tara, and it was a wonderful earthy scent. It felt like peace and love and home.

Wondering if she was feeling the same way Buffy and Spike (and Rupert and Anya?) had felt about each other at first, Willow smiled to herself and eventually got out of the very comfortable bed.

She wandered about the room curiously, picking up items at random. Everything in this room seemed to have a sense of wonder and beauty around it. Just like Tara did…

Caressing the spines casually, Willow wandered over to the bookshelf. The top shelf was full of college textbooks. Willow winced briefly at the reminder that they were really going to have to do something about their outstanding classes soon.

The second shelf provoked fewer immediate worries. Magic books of all sorts were bound with ancient, worn leather. Willow had been puzzling over how their little Amnesia Troop had come together. But if she and Tara were interested in the study of magic, that would explain why they knew Rupert, Anya, and Spike. And Buffy’s Slayer-ness undoubtedly fit in there somewhere, too.

Curious if her own books might shed some light on their current puzzle, Willow pulled out the thickest and oldest looking. Just a list of herbs. No good there.

She tried the book next to it. Healing incantations. That was cool.

She looked back at the bookshelf and frowned when she saw that another tome had been hidden carefully away at the back on the bookshelf. A black leather cover with two words etched into the cover: ‘Darkest Magick.’

Huh. Wiping out people’s memories might fall under that category. She flipped open the book to the first bookmark and…

“’Morning.”

Willow practically leapt out of her skin at the sudden noise.

“Sorry,” Buffy winced. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s OK,” Willow assured her shakily. “Just jumpy what with this creepy old book I found.”

Buffy frowned at it, then shrugged. “Is Tara…er…” She trailed off, looking horribly embarrassed.

Willow belatedly noticed that Buffy was still in her rumpled clothes from last night. With the addition of Spike’s leather coat, which Buffy seemed to be stroking absentmindedly.

A wicked little grin curled at Willow’s lips. “Tara’s in the shower. Why?”

“Oh.” Buffy bit her lip. “It’s nothing important. Really.”

Willow began to develop a sneaking suspicion. “This have something to do with Spike?” she guessed.

Buffy’s blush was all the answer she needed. “We kind of have a date tonight,” she admitted in a very quiet voice. “You know… _here_ …”

Willow couldn’t help but blush as well at those implications. “T-Tara and I have to head over to UC Sunnydale to see about missed assignments and stuff,” she offered helpfully. “And Dawn…”

“Will graciously go with them in the interests of keeping the hot vampire eye-candy around the house,” the teenager cut in, sneaking up behind Buffy.

Buffy let out an undignified little squeak which caused Dawn to roll her eyes.

“Some Slayer, you are.”

Willow smiled as the two sisters bantered and left the room, Buffy having blushed her thanks. Alone again, she reopened the heavy book she was clutching to her chest, wondering all the while if it was hers, Tara’s, or theirs.

 _Ours_ , she murmured to herself and smiled. The word had a nice ring to it.

The bookmark she opened the volume at was a handwritten list of ingredients; it didn’t take long to match the list to that of a spell. A memory spell, she realized, and her heart started beating faster.

Knowing whose book – whose list and spell – this was became suddenly crucial, and inspiration struck as she noticed a pen on the dresser. Without thinking, she copied down the list, and immediately knew. The handwriting matched. This had to mean that she had done that spell. She was responsible for their memory loss. She had done it, but why?

The water stopped running in the adjoining bathroom and Willow fumbled to put the book back where she had found it, out of sight. She didn’t know why she had done it, but until she found a way to fix it she had this deep suspicion that no one would be too friendly to her if they learned it was all her fault. And she did hope to be more than friendly with Tara.

* * *

All the young amnesiacs had now arrived and taken place at the table in the back of the shop, and Rupert was feeling sick. He had to tell them, all of them and Buffy in particular, about Spike’s real identity and probable secret agenda, but the words were refusing to come out. He wished for a glass of that whiskey he hadn’t finished the previous night, but it would have been a terrible example for the children.

Then again, Anya’s current explanation wasn’t exactly meant for all ears either.

“…certain Xander’s penis is quite satisfying,” she was telling the four other girls with an indulgent smile toward a crimson Xander. “I just felt that Rupert…”

Unwilling to hear his size or performance discussed in public, Rupert cleared his throat and interrupted her.

“All they need to know, I believe, is that you and I are now living together. Don’t you think, dear?”

Judging by the collective disappointed look of the women, Rupert was quite certain they would discuss the topic in details later. Xander, on the other hand, appeared thankful. Rupert had had the chance to share a few words with him earlier, and the young man hadn’t seemed to bear a grudge in the slightest; on the contrary, Rupert had had the distinct impression that he was relieved, though for what reason he couldn’t fathom.

“I have a couple of hypothesis to test about our condition,” he announced, steeling himself. “But before that, I need to…dispel another misconception of ours.”

His throat was dry, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. It was almost as if once he said it, Spike would truly cease to be his son, regardless of the fact that he had never been.

“It’s about Spike,” he forced the words out, and noticed that Buffy’s attention, in particular, had suddenly increased. “I…I found out that he’s not exactly who we thought he was. He is in fact just the opposite…”

* * *

Spike had managed to strut all through Shady Hill Cemetery and through the residential districts of Sunnydale like he was the baddest creature alive. Undead, fine. There was a bit more of a swagger to it when he didn’t have that coat to swirl dramatically about his legs.

It all fell apart when he turned the corner of Revello Drive, however, and that goofy grin he’d been fighting all day finally took over. So, yeah, he was a complete ponce. But a ponce with the most gorgeous, powerful, clever woman in the world for his girlfriend.

And, Christ, were his hands actually _sweating_ in anticipation?

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself and finally rang the doorbell.

He could see lights on inside, hear the shuffling of footsteps, and smell the barest whiff of her scent within. Leaning casually against the doorframe, he put on his best seductive smirk…

The door opened…

“Spike,” Buffy said blankly.

“Hello, luv,” he purred, leaning in closer to kiss those pretty, glossy lips of hers.

And abruptly, he collided with some sort of barrier. Stunned, he shook his head and pulled back. “What on…?” he frowned, puzzled. “’S like what happened back at Xander’s when—”

“You mean like a disinvite spell?” Buffy replied sweetly, staying well behind the barrier as he tested it cautiously with one hand. “Rupert found it in his store this afternoon.”

“Disinvite?” he repeated, puzzled. “Why would you need—?”

Buffy bit her lip, trying to fight back the tears buried just beneath the surface. God, he was so beautiful. How could he be her enemy, a murderer, a betrayer, a… _“Monster,”_ Rupert’s words echoed in the back of her mind.

“Cut the act, Spike,” she said angrily. “We found out all about your contorted little scheme.”

“Sche—Buffy, you’re crying?” His expression instantly turned alarmed. “Did something happen?”

She let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “Something happen?” She blinked at him incredulously. “Yeah, something happened. It turns out my ‘vampire boyfriend’ is a psychotic mass murderer who cast a spell on all my friends just so he could get into my pants. But, other than that? Nothing new. How ‘bout you? Having fun laughing the whole thing up with your demon buddies?”

Spike just gaped at her. “ _What_?” he exclaimed, completely baffled.

“Y-You’re found out.” Buffy pointed at him accusingly. “And, thank god, just in the nick of time.”

“Buffy-luv, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Dad found out something about our memory loses?”

A tear leaked from the corner of Buffy’s eye. “Stop it!” she screeched, feeling her heart rip apart. “Stop lying to me!”

“I’m not—” he insisted.

“When were you going to tell me?” she demanded. “After we’d slept together? Was that when you were going to break the spell? Or were you going to wait until I’d fallen in l-l…” She trailed off, unable to continue.

Rupert, who’d been waiting in the background with crossbow and holy water just in case the disinvite spell didn’t work, came forward and caught her then, pulling her back inside.

“Dad,” Spike clutched at the doorframe, the full realization that the world had just altered in some inexplicable way without his awareness finally sinking in, “what’s going on?”

“Don’t call me that,” Rupert replied angrily, before slamming the door in his face and leaving him alone on the doorstep.

Spike stood there, stunned, trying to absorb what had been said. “I—” _Didn’t do it_ , one part of him insisted. _Don’t remember doing it_ , a more cynical part pointed out. But “love her” was all he could say.


	11. Chapter 11

The banging on the door finally stopped, and Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. Barely aware of what she was doing, she went to the window and pulled on the curtain just enough to see Spike walk away. His hands were fisted at his sides, and he was looking straight ahead. Something in her wanted him to turn back, so she could see his face one last time. But he didn’t, and before long he was out of sight. She let the curtain drop and sighed softly.

“Is he gone?” Rupert asked from behind her.

She nodded and turned to face him.

“He looked like he had no clue what I was talking about,” she murmured. “Could it be…”

She didn’t finish the thought, but Rupert knew what she meant.

“I wish I could tell you it was all a bad dream,” he said tiredly as he unloaded the crossbow he still held and put it down. “As a matter of fact, _I_ wish it was a bad dream. But we mustn’t allow him to fool us anymore. He is dangerous, Buffy.”

Again, she nodded. Again, she sighed. She had heard everything Rupert had discovered about Spike, she had even read from his diary herself, but it was still hard to believe. Spike was a good actor; She would never have known he was lying to her if they hadn’t found out about who he truly was. They had been lucky.

So why did she feel so miserable?

* * *

 _Even though her thoughts were focused on Spike and their soon to come date, Buffy was surprised by Anya’s news – and her way of announcing said news. Two days ago she and Rupert had been engaged, the day before she was engaged to Xander instead, and now she was with Rupert again. The back and forth was amusing, if a little dizzying._

 _“I have a couple of hypotheses to test about our condition,” Rupert announced after putting an end to Anya's slightly overly graphic explanations. “But before that, I need to…dispel another misconception of ours.”_

 _He took a deep breath, and Buffy’s attention started to wander. More tests, more talks, the afternoon promised to be dull beyond words._

 _“It’s about Spike,” he continued, and Buffy perked up. “I…I found out that he's not exactly who we thought he was. He is in fact just the opposite…”_

 _He paused again, and Buffy was too curious to wait for him to continue._

 _“The opposite? The opposite of what?”_

 _“The opposite of our ally. He is a century old master vampire. A monster.”_

 _For a moment Buffy just stared at him. And then she laughed. “Very funny,” she rolled her eyes. “You had me going there for a minute.”_

 _Rupert sighed. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. “I’m afraid I am quite serious,” he insisted._

 _“Rupert,” Buffy just shook her head, “he’s your son.”_

 _“Er…that would be another error we made,” he corrected her._

 _“What?” Xander asked, puzzled. “C’mon. I mean, sexy British guys. What are the odds of—?” He broke off abruptly when he realized he’d actually just referred to Spike and Rupert as ‘sexy’. OK, it was mind-washing time._

 _“How do you know all this?” Willow ventured hesitantly. She was somewhat relieved that this latest discovery had turned attention away from the spell she’d suspected she’d cast._

 _“I found my official Watcher’s Journal last night,” Rupert replied, happy to be on the firm ground of facts once more. “It details every death-match Buffy and Spike have shared over the past four years.”_

 _“Let me see that,” Buffy snatched the journal from the desk, thumbing through it._

 _“Here,” Rupert pointed out his bookmarking system. “And here. And here. Here. Here… Here…”_

 _Buffy’s expression was defiant at the beginning of each journal entry. Then, as she skimmed over the text, more uncertain._

 _One by one, the rest of the gang moved over so that they could read over her shoulder._

 _“What kind of moron human would actually want to be vampire?” Xander demanded of the third entry…_

 _“M-Magical rings…” Tara whispered in disbelief as they moved further through time._

 _“Spike often has contorted plans of that nature,” Rupert explained._

 _Visibly shaken, Buffy set the journal down. “But this doesn’t make sense,” she insisted. “If Spike wanted me dead, he’s had plenty of opportunities…”_

 _“Maybe it’s another Spike,” Dawn suggested hopefully. She’d been rather bitter when they’d forced her away from the book under Rupert’s insistence that the material was ‘not suitable for children’. “There could be two guys named Spike. I suppose…”_

 _“Both with white hair, who are vampires and dress like Gothic rejects from the 80s?” Xander questioned skeptically._

 _Even Dawn bit her lip at that._

 _Rupert coughed to bring attention back to him. “I believe I can answer Buffy’s question satisfactorily.”_

 _Five sets of eyes turned to him. Anya, who had already heard the story, bit her lip and returned to her careful maintenance of the cash register._

 _“It appears that two years ago, Spike had an…accident. A government group, calling themselves the Initiative, captured him and performed a series of experiments—”_

 _“So he’s a good vampire now?” Buffy asked hopefully._

 _“Quite the contrary,” Rupert shook his head. “Spike has a computer chip implanted in his brain which prevents him from causing any physical harm to humans. In order to compensate, he has switched tactics and now wishes to destroy Buffy…” A slight reddish tint colored his cheeks. “…Intimately.”_

 _“Huh?” Xander blinked._

 _“Spike’s trying to get Buffy to have sex with him,” Anya provided, rolling her eyes at Rupert’s reticence. “There was this whole big thing with a fuck-bot. Oh, and that time he tied her up with chains…”_

 _And it was at about that moment that Buffy’s universe finally slipped out from under her…_

* * *

Buffy managed a wan smile as Rupert left, but they both knew it was false. She’d offered to walk him home. Supposedly, Spike was harmless, but neither of them would really feel comfortable until they saw this chip in action. Rupert assured her that his cross should be sufficient for the short trip to and from his car.

After he was gone, Buffy moved slowly through the empty house. Willow and Tara had gone to the university as planned, and they’d taken Dawn with them as a precaution. Buffy hadn’t wanted her sister in danger if things had gotten nasty tonight.

How things had changed in only a few hours… In the morning, she had expected to spend some quality time with Spike come nightfall, and there she was, alone, hesitating somewhere between being broken-hearted and angry.

Without conviction, she went to her room and picked up the diary she had only read bits and pieces of. Maybe this would tell her more. Maybe it was all no more than a misunderstanding. Maybe Xander had been right. Maybe.

* * *

 _Rupert’s Watcher diary was laying closed on the table, and still it drew questioning eyes. If Xander was to believe the grim faces around the table, he wasn’t the only one troubled by the news._

 _“I found a spell,” Rupert said with a quiet sigh. “The diary mentioned disinviting vampires from a house, and I found how it is done. It will be a matter of minutes to make Spike unwelcome in all our homes again.”_

 _The statement had a feeling of finality to it, as if once the spell would be done Spike would disappear from their lives. Somehow, this bothered Xander. They were a group, all of them in the same situation, and it felt wrong to cast one of their own aside, even if he was a vampire._

 _“Can we stop for a minute here?” he suggested, a little uneasy when all eyes turned to him. “We’ve been wrong before in assuming who we are.” A quick gesture of his hand between Rupert and Anya indicated, if need be, what he meant. “And it turned out that out first instinct wasn’t so bad after all, was it?”_

 _The Englishman and Xander’s ex-fiancée shared a glance, which only confirmed what Xander thought. She was much better off with Rupert. There had been little connection between them, engaged or not, maybe because they had both thought they belonged with someone else, maybe for other reasons hiding in their lost memories. In any case, things seemed better as they were now._

 _“Are you suggesting,” Rupert asked with an arched eyebrow, “that we dismiss everything the diary tells us and accept in our midst the creature who is probably responsible for our amnesia?”_

 _“I’m just suggesting,” Xander began. “Wait. Hold up. Spike caused our amnesia?”_

 _“It does seem to sort of fit his M.O.,” Willow commented, frowning at the incident where he’d attempted to force her to cast a love spell. Her mind was racing. She’d thought this spell was her doing, but what if it had been Spike? What if he’d found a way to make her do this spell for him? Or what if he’d somehow planted the book in her room to make her think she was the culprit._

 _Then again, what if she was just so desperate to believe she was innocent, she was seeking any other possible alternative? She bit her lower lip as the two arguments warred within her._

 _“You’re saying Spike caused us to lose our memories?” Buffy was starting to feel cold. “Why?”_

 _Rupert sighed. “His other…techniques of seducing you had been ineffective. And you must admit he initiated a relationship with you quite quickly.”_

 _A definite shiver ran down Buffy’s spine at that. “This was all a way to trick me to sleep with him?” she asked in a very small, quiet voice._

 _“Again with the jumping to wild conclusions,” Xander muttered under his breath._

 _Tara smiled at him sympathetically._

 _“It is,” Rupert concluded, “a possible danger that we cannot afford to ignore.”_

* * *

As he staked one more vampire, Spike let out a frustrated growl. He had thought that a bit of violence would help him clear up his mind, but it wasn’t helping in the slightest. Each fight brought back the memories of previous nights, when he had patrolled with Buffy, laughed with her, when every demon slain had been the pretext to a soft congratulatory kiss. Patrolling by himself only deepened the wound he had received earlier, rather than soothed it.

He still couldn’t understand what had happened. How had they gone from waking in each other’s arms and the promise of much more to come, to threats and a refused access to her home? What had happened in these few hours when they had been apart? Why did she believe he was responsible for all of this?

He didn’t know whether he was more confused or angry by all of it, both feelings overwhelming him and preventing him to think rationally. If only he had had someone to turn to, someone to talk to… His father would have been the logical choice, but Rupert had been there with her, a crossbow in his hands; He had even seemed to refuse to acknowledge they were family. And again, the same question haunted Spike.

Why?

What had he done to deserve this? He was a good vampire.

Wasn’t he?

* * *

 _Spike was a good vampire. Dawn was just certain he was. She didn’t care what Rupert’s diary – which they wouldn’t even let her read – said. She had read her own, most of it at least, and there was nothing in it, not one single clue, that he had ever tried to hurt any of them. It did mention his infatuation with Buffy, but he was allowed to love, wasn’t he?_

 _More than that, her diary described how Spike had been there for her while Buffy had gone away the previous summer. It wasn’t very clear where she had gone and why, but one entry after the other repeated how much Dawn missed her, and how Spike was doing his best to take care of her._

 _And so, as the others discussed Spike’s guilt and past misdeeds, Dawn bit back her protests that they were wrong. No one would listen to her right now, she was sure of it. They were all too taken aback by all of it to listen to a kid. But once she got home, once she was alone with Buffy, she would show her. Prove her that Spike wasn’t as evil as they all seemed to think. She knew he wasn’t._

* * *

Willow and Tara had dropped Dawn off just outside the Magic Box. Dawn would’ve liked to have taken credit for her brilliant machinations in putting her scheme in motion, but it was clear that Willow had something on her chest that she wanted to talk to Tara about alone. So Dawn had just played along and finally escaped the watchful couple’s eye by saying she was going to drop by the store and have Rupert drive her home.

As soon as the two women were out of sight, however, she set off straight for home. It was dark, yeah, but her house wasn’t far, and she didn’t want anyone else interrupting her while she tried to plead her case to Buffy. What were the odds any of the vampires in town would find her on that short walk?

She amended that with a startled shriek when a voice sounded from the darkness.

“A bit late to be out by your lonesome, innit?”

OK, so what were the odds any _bad_ vampires would find her on her short walk?

Dawn shrugged. “Probably.” She turned to face Spike without fear. After all, no matter what Rupert said, he was still the dorky Randy who had woken up with amnesia, just like the rest of them. “You been to see Buffy yet?”

His expression darkened. It was answer enough. “You don’t seem to be runnin’ screaming,” he commented, casually moving into step beside her.

Dawn just rolled her eyes. “They’re wrong about you. I know that.”

“You’re so sure?” He sounded really depressed.

“According to my diary, you’re the coolest vampire ever,” Dawn assured him. “You help me write history papers and stuff.”

That brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. “Big sis seems less than convinced.”

“That’s just because I haven’t talked to her yet,” Dawn countered confidently. Now, this was strange. And familiar. Few words were spoken, but it felt like they didn’t need them. Like there was an underlying understanding and respect between them. Dawn hadn’t realized it before because…well, because Buffy had been monopolizing his time before. But now she had no doubts about it. They were friends.

“Sure you want to stick your neck out?” he inquired, coming to a halt when they reached the corner of her block and the lights of the Summers’ home came into view.

Dawn couldn’t help but giggle. “Yeah, the sweet vampire that walked me home at night is _really_ evil,” she countered pointedly.

He had the grace to look sheepish. “Noticed that, did you?”

“Please. You were _so_ not subtle.” Her smile turned wistful as she watched him. Half in the shadows, hands buried into the pockets of his jeans. Yeesh, had Buffy not even given him his coat back? “I’ll tell her,” she promised.

But, like a shadow, he’d already vanished into the night.

* * *

 _Dawn wasn’t the only one doubting Rupert’s theory of the crime. Willow held her tongue throughout the Spike portion of the discussion. But when Rupert broke them all up to work on dissolving the spell Spike had cast, she caught him alone in the basement storage room._

 _“Willow?” he inquired curiously when he saw her on the stairs._

 _She managed a nervous smile. “Uh…hi.” She gave him a little finger-wave before realizing she just looked awkward and burying her fingers into the fabric of the comfortable purple sweater she'd found this morning._

 _“Was there something you wanted?” he asked pointedly._

 _“Well…kinda.” She breathed a deep breath. “IkindasuspectSpikedidn’tcastthespell.”_

 _Rupert blinked. “Pardon?”_

 _Willow took several more deep breaths. Slow this time. “The memory spell. I-I’m not sure but… Well, there was this book back at Tara’s – our – house, and… There were spells and-and memory spells and… What if Spike didn’t do it?”_

 _Rupert’s brow furrowed slightly._

 _Her voice turned very meek and quiet. “What if I did?”_

 _He sighed and gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll look into it, of course,” he assured her, “but that doesn’t change the fact that we’ve had a secret enemy in our midst all this time.”_

 _“True,” Willow conceded with a little breath of relief. Rupert was probably right, after all. It had probably been Spike._

 _“I would like you to bring in that book,” he decided. “But our primary concern at the moment has to be protecting ourselves from the more immediate danger.”_

 _Willow nodded at that, went upstairs without any further fuss. It had been exactly what she wanted to hear, reassurances, an easy way out. But, as she’d listened to Rupert’s repeated angry suspicions of Spike over the next few hours, she couldn’t help but wonder whether the personal betrayal the Watcher seemed to feel was clouding his judgment. Damn. She needed to talk about this with someone with a more levelheaded perspective…_

* * *

Talking a little with Dawn, seeing how convinced she was that they were all wrong and that he wasn’t their enemy, hearing her all but promise to talk in his favor to her sister, all of it had put a bit of a spring back into Spike’s step. Maybe he hadn’t completely lost Buffy and his place in the group, maybe they just needed to clear up whatever had come up.

He wished he had asked Dawn why the others were suddenly convinced he was dangerous to them. He had been so surprised that she didn’t think the same that he hadn’t even thought of asking her.

Had he known where the closest bar was, he would certainly have taken advantage of it. He couldn’t remember what his beverage of choice was, but he had little doubt that some liquid comfort would have been nice. Alas, he still had not come across such an establishment, and so he settled on going back to his crypt. He was feeling a tad peckish, and there was still some blood left in his fridge. The realization that he didn’t know where to get more and that he would need to ask Tara where she had bought it that first day wasn’t exactly heartening.

He was slightly taken aback, when he entered his home, to find that the television was on, but he soon recognized his visitor.

“Hey Spike! Hope you don’t mind, there’s a Farscape marathon tonight.”

A pointed look of the demon behind Spike reminded him too acutely that he was alone.

“’S fine,” he assured the demon – Clem, was it?

He had reached his fridge and pulled out some blood before it finally struck him. He had his answer right there, sitting on his sofa. Clem remembered everything. He would be able to tell whether Spike was the good vampire he thought he was or…something else. And by the happiest of coincidences, the demon gave him the perfect overture.

“So, how is your head? Got all your memories back?”

“Well, as a matter of fact…” he walked closer to Clem and sat down in a battered armchair. “There are still parts that are a bit fuzzy. Maybe you could clear up a thing or two for me?”

“Sure!” Clem grinned – or at least, Spike thought he did; it was a little hard to tell with all this loose flesh.

“Let’s see…”

There were so many questions that cluttered Spike’s mind, he didn’t know at first where to start. And then it was luminously obvious. The most important question of all.

“The Slayer and me… Are we…you know, together?”

 _Say yes, please say yes…_

“Well, I’m not sure,” Clem answered, his grin wavering. “You two seemed rather cozy the other day…”

“No, no, before that,” Spike cut in impatiently.

“I don’t think you can call it ‘being together’,” the demon said cautiously. “But she didn’t stake you yet, doesn’t that count for something?”

Spike’s last hopes disappeared as fast as a vampire in the sun.

“But…she doesn’t have a reason to stake me, does she? I’m not evil. And my dad would be upset if she did.”

Clem tilted his head as he considered Spike with worry.

“You did hit your head pretty hard, huh? I can’t remember how many times you said it, to me and to anyone who would listen. You’re still evil. The chip in your head doesn’t change that. And your father? You mean your grandsire? What’s his name…Angel? Didn’t you say he had more reasons to stake you than even the Slayer?”

His mouth opening and closing without a sound, Spike was baffled. It seemed that everything he had held to be true in the last few days was wrong, after all. But he would get to the bottom of this. They would be at it all night, maybe, but he would get all that Clem knew about him. And maybe then he would know who he was.

* * *

“Ooh! And look at this! See, right here? Willow and Tara went out, and Spike stayed to watch me and we watched bad sci-fi movies and played cards. And, apparently, I cheat better than he does…”

For the first time, a soft smile crossed Buffy’s face. “Let me see that,” she requested softly, puzzled by this rather different picture of Spike.

“No way.” Dawn snatched the notebook away. “It’s my diary.”

Buffy just sighed. “Dawnie…” she said, her tone warning.

With a reluctant sigh, Dawn scootched closer. “I’m not making it up. See?”

Buffy slowly deciphered her younger sister’s scrawling script. She didn’t know whether it was a relief or a further headache.

“See?” Dawn pressed more nervously when Buffy just shook her head. “I know Rupert has to be wrong. Why would I lie about Spike to myself in my own diary?”

“There could be a lot of reasons,” Buffy insisted. “Maybe…we didn’t tell you the bad stuff or…something…” Inwardly, Buffy was quite convinced it was because Dawn seemed a little taken with a vampire. A not-so-healthy teenage crush would undoubtedly do wonders for a vampire’s PR. Especially in said teen’s personal diary.

“Then why would guys let him babysit me?” Dawn demanded.

Buffy had to admit, it was one question she didn’t have an answer to.

“You’re sure Rupert’s diary didn’t say anything good? Or yours?”

Buffy shook her head. After Spike’s little confession of love – and what she now reinterpreted as a horrified response – he hadn’t garnered another mention. And Rupert’s journals had been clear and consistent from beginning to end: Spike was an evil, malicious opportunist who used every chance he was given to try to trick his way further into their little group of friends in order to wreak further havoc.

“It’s late,” she insisted, batting half-heartedly at Dawn to get her off the bed.

With a weary sigh, Dawn got up. OK, so Buffy was proving more clueless than she’d imagined. She’d just have to try a different tactic. In the morning.

“Maybe,” she suggested as a parting shot, “all that old stuff doesn’t matter anymore. The two of you seemed happy. What difference does a past you can’t even remember make?”

“When we get our memories back?” Buffy scoffed. “All the difference in the world.” Annoyed with the fact that her own sister was echoing her baser impulses, she shut the bedroom door with a curt goodnight.

After all, she was an adult. She couldn’t just deny the facts because the world when she and Spike were dating had been a wonderful fantasy. The bubble had burst, and however much pain she was feeling now paled in comparison to what she would’ve felt the morning after she’d given herself to him only to find out her supposed lover had suddenly turned evil. Spike was bad, end of story.

But still: Why _had_ they let an evil vampire babysit her kid sister?

Intending to put all of this out of her mind for a little while at least, Buffy lay down on her bed and tried to get some sleep. She hadn’t patrolled that night, but Rupert had suggested that she take a night off, just in case Spike tried something stupid after his treachery had been uncovered.

However, as soon as she closed her eyes, Spike was there, right behind her eyelids, with that kicked puppy look he had given her when he had found out he couldn’t enter her house. She tried to counter the image and the wrong – so wrong – flutter in her stomach it provoked by summoning the memory of Rupert’s revelations. The Watcher’s account of Spike’s misdeeds was all too clear, and left no place for doubt.

So why was she doubting? Why were Dawn’s voice and diary drowning out everything else? Everything, except for the feeling of belonging that Buffy had felt in Spike’s arms, the certitude that there was no other place on earth where she would have rather been.

Door noises, quiet steps and quieter murmurs, Willow and Tara were back. Buffy listened as they settled in, knowing they would be curious to find out what had happened with Spike but unwilling to discuss it.

She changed her mind then about skipping patrol. Since the other women were back, there was no reason for her not to leave the house for a little while, and a bit of fresh air and exercise could only help with her insomnia. Or so she thought until she came across Spike.

She hadn’t consciously chosen to patrol in the cemetery where he resided; at least, she didn’t think she had. She saw him before he saw her, and was careful to remain far enough and hidden so that he wouldn’t notice her. He was fighting a couple of what seemed to be newly risen vampires. Or rather, he was playing with them. He did have a stake in hand, but he wasn’t using it, choosing instead to hit with fists and feet.

“’S that the best you can do?” he taunted one of his adversaries, who growled in reply and literally jumped on him. A kick, a shove, a few punches, and both fledglings were on the ground.

“Pathetic,” Spike sneered as he looked down at them. “And you dare call yourself demons? I’ll show you a real demon…”

Buffy barely stifled a gasp as he shifted to his vampire features and attacked the two other vamps once more as they stood. Within seconds, it was over, and Spike was standing amidst a cloud of ashes.

“A real demon,” he repeated to himself, his cocky tone from seconds before replaced by a dejected sigh. “So why am I dusting vamps?”

The question remained without answer as he shook his head and walked away, leaving Buffy even more confused now than she had been before.


	12. Chapter 12

Willow and Tara came in that night to an empty house. Willow actually found herself relieved by that. She knew there were bigger things going on right now, but her own problems preoccupied her.

On some sort of mutual subconscious signal, they quieted as they entered the house and headed up the stairs. The solitude of their room and the book at the center of the current dilemma were at the forefronts of their minds. Willow led the way and shut the door firmly behind them. They exchanged an overly furtive look, and Tara smiled in response.

Willow smiled back, breathed a little sigh of relief, and the tense mood was broken.

“Where is it?” Tara asked quietly.

Willow dug about at the back of the bookshelf and removed the weathered tome. “H-Here’s the page…” She flipped it open to the bookmark and pointed.

Tara frowned and read through the text. “And that’s your handwriting?” she gestured to the page of notes.

Willow nodded. “Rupert still thinks Spike’s responsible, but…” She trailed off and bit her lip.

Tara skimmed the pages. “Maybe there’s some way of checking?” she suggested. “To prove whether…you know…”

“I’m the one responsible for all this.” Willow sat down on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

Tara sighed and sat down next to her, bringing the book with her. “Even if you did,” she began shyly, eyes turned downward and hair curtaining her face, “I think you’re…br—” She blushed horribly before gulping and finishing the sentence. “Brave for coming forward.”

Willow looked up at her in surprise.

“You could’ve just hidden and blamed Spike, but you didn’t,” Tara amended.

“No, I probably just wiped our memories permanently,” Willow grumbled.

Cautiously, Tara reached over and patted her hand lightly. “We’ll find out,” she promised.

Willow bit her lip. Half of her didn’t _want_ to find out. The other half felt this _need_ to know the truth. “Let’s get started,” she said, taking a deep breath.

Tara smiled. Brave Willow, indeed…

* * *

Anya had a secret. Anya was also quickly discovering that she didn’t _like_ keeping secrets. Especially from Rupert.

But while he’d been planning to exorcise his former son from all their homes, Anya had finished up her work for the evening and – with nothing else to do – had turned to Rupert’s journal and had begun reading the sections he’d skimmed over.

It had taken her some time to finally find her name mentioned. And when she had at last found it, she started wishing she hadn’t.

The journal described how she had attempted a spell with Willow’s help that had caused a second Willow, less pleasant than the one they knew, to enter this reality. Rupert’s precise script briefly explained that her goal had been to retrieve her lost powers of vengeance demon.

Anya was a demon. Or had been. It wasn’t very clear if she still was a demon or not, but there was no doubt that it was her that the diary spoke of.

Like Rupert had done for Spike, skimming the text to find any mention of him, Anya ran through the pages looking for her own name. She didn’t find much, merely hints of her becoming part of the group, nothing that cast any more light on her demonic – or not – status.

But she also found something else that surprised her almost as much as that first discovery. Toward the end of the diary, one of the entries was unusually concise. It simply stated, “Buffy died today.” The following entry, on the next page, spoke of a spell performed by Willow with the assistance of Tara, Xander, and Anya herself, that had brought the Slayer back. This new information raised many questions, and Anya didn’t have the beginning of an answer. Why hadn’t Rupert mentioned that little detail of Buffy dying? He couldn’t have missed it, and it felt too important not to share it with the rest of the group. And was Willow their resident witch? She seemed rather powerful if she was able to raise the dead; maybe they ought to investigate that lead as far as their memory loss was concerned.

It was all very confusing – and frightening.

When Rupert returned, as promised, so that they could go home together, she was dusting the inventory on the shelves, more to keep herself busy than because it was needed. Coming behind her, Rupert encircled her with his arms and kissed the back of her neck. She tensed at the contact. After seeing how quick he had been to reject Spike-the-evil-demon, Anya couldn’t help but wonder how he would react when he found out about her, which he was bound to do soon. She broke his embrace and went to grab her jacket.

“So, it’s done?” she asked more abruptly than she meant to. “Spike is out of our lives?”

“As much as possible,” Rupert acquiesced. “One less demon to worry about.”

She noticed the puzzled look he was giving her and realized she was scowling.

“Is anything wrong?” he inquired.

She fought to bring a tight smile to her lips. “Wrong? Why would anything be wrong? Everything is just perfectly perfect.”

And with that, she strode out and to the car, leaving him to close the shop; she was sick with worry that he would soon know about what she was, and angry in advance at the rejection that would come after that.

She waited nervously by the curb for a few minutes, tensing more each second he lingered in the shop. Finally, he emerged, and she put on her best bright smile.

“I couldn’t locate my journal,” he informed her, brow creased with worry.

“Oh, Xander took it with him,” she spun off the first thing that came to her lips.

Rupert looked even more puzzled at that. “Xander? He doesn’t seem the type to—”

“Or maybe he just moved it. Actually, I think it was Tara.” She mock-yawned. “I’m sleepy. Let’s go home.”

He smiled at that. “I can always find it tomorrow,” he agreed, unlocking her door for her.

And Anya patted her purse – and the journal contained within – lightly. Oh, she doubted she could keep him from finding out forever. But it wasn’t too much to ask for a day or so reprieve while she sorted out her own emotions, was it?

* * *

As Rupert lay in bed that night, taking notes from another of the spellbooks he’d borrowed from the shop and listening to Anya’s heavy breathing, his anxiety continued to grow. He’d made light of the misplaced journal – and he hoped most fervently that it just was misplaced – but the thought that someone else was reading some of those entries alarmed him.

His journal was full of…well, _unusual_ – to be polite – facts about their group. He’d only just scratched the surface of the tome. Spike had been a priority, and thus Rupert had only read vital information relating to the vampire. But there were some facts that had given him pause, made him feel as if a weight were on his shoulders as he debated whether to tell the group…

Buffy had died.

Dawn was something called a Key.

And Spike…

He wondered that he’d been most inclined to spill his ‘son’s dark secrets.

If he was to be honest with himself, Rupert had to admit that he had felt immensely betrayed upon discovering that Spike wasn’t his son. More than betrayed; wounded, and the mental pain had been as bad as any physical one. In a sense, it had been even worse than discovering that he and Anya weren’t a couple. Worse, because he knew the mistake had been as genuine on Anya’s part as it had been on his, whereas he wasn’t sure Spike had not led him astray on purpose. Everything that Rupert had read indicated that it was the kind of things Spike might do. Or, to be fair, just about everything he had read.

There were a few anecdotes that were a bit…puzzling. Small bits of gray that lightened an otherwise dark picture. Like the few lines describing Spike’s broken body after his close encounter with a goddess, followed by a simple sentence noting that he apparently hadn’t talked and put Dawn in danger. Or the almost illegible paragraph, obviously written in haste before a battle, that included Spike amongst the fighters gathered around Buffy to save her sister.

In his desire to prove, without a doubt, that Spike had betrayed them, Rupert had left these less than conclusive passages out of the list he had shown the group. The guilt over this omission was like a prickling at the base of his skull. Buffy had been terribly disappointed, and he felt like it was in part his fault. But at the same time, he knew he had done the right thing. Better a clean break for her than this nagging feeling that was growing in Rupert and asking, what if…

He shook his head. Spike had lied to them all. He wondered whether the vampire had laughed at Rupert’s easy acceptance of him as his ‘son’. Whether Spike had enjoyed his little game, pretending to care only to snatch away the only family Rupert had ever known. He wondered if he would’ve received a similar humiliation to Buffy once Spike ultimately revealed his plan. He wondered…

He wondered, more than anything else, how he could still be so foolish as to wish that Spike _had_ been his son…

* * *

“Hey, Buffy. Welcome to Casa de Harris-or-whatever-my-real-last-name-is.” Xander grinned and held open the door for her.

Buffy managed a smile and entered. “It’s not Harris?”

Xander laughed. “Given the goings on around here, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that I’'m actually a 62-year-old midget named Bubba, undercover to sabotage a rival company’s construction project and…” He noticed her strange expression. “Better not think about it,” he hastily amended.

Buffy nodded at that and began wandering somewhat aimlessly about the apartment, picking up items at random and studying them.

“So,” Xander tried to recover the brutally massacred conversation, “patrolling?”

“Yeah,” she agreed before frowning.

An awkward pause. “Was there something you wanted?”

Xander supposed that if had still possessed his memories he would have known what to expect from her. They had to be friends – or at least he thought they were, but it was hard to be certain about anything these days – and so there were probably things they regularly talked about. Like…

“Why did you let Anya go?”

OK, maybe he wouldn't have seen that one coming even with his memories intact. That was a rather personal subject she was touching there, and Xander wasn’t sure he was ready to share.

“Why do you ask?” he shot back, uneasy, as he sat down on the sofa and picked up the remote. She sat down next to him, and for a minute or two they watched an infomercial about some kitchen utensil. Absolutely riveting.

“I ask,” she finally said, “because I don’t understand. You had to be happy with her before all this happened, since you were going to get married. And now she’s gone and you don’t really seem heartbroken about it.”

With a sigh, Xander turned the television off. How could he explain when he wasn’t so sure himself?

“Maybe we were happy,” he conceded. “Maybe we had the most wonderful relationship ever. But I don’t remember any of it, and neither does she. We didn’t feel comfortable together. We talked about it and calling it off just seemed…I don’t know…logical. Better.”

He kept quiet about his own feeling of relief that he wasn’t really going to get married to someone he didn’t know. Anya was probably a wonderful person, but he simply didn’t feel ready to tie the knot.

For long minutes, Buffy was silent, and Xander finally turned toward her to observe her. She was biting her bottom lip and her brow was furrowed; she was clearly lost in deep thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” he couldn’t help asking, and this time, when she answered, he wasn’t really surprised.

“Spike.”

To tell the truth, he had been doing some thinking about Spike too since Rupert had come to do that disinvite spell on his apartment. Despite all the proofs contained in the Englishman’s diary, it was still hard to believe the vampire had been fooling them all this time. He had seemed as affected by the memory loss as they all had been, and what was the point of setting up this whole thing if he didn’t even remember why he had done it?

“What about Spike?” he questioned softly.

Hesitating a little, Buffy met his eyes. “Do you think I could…know that he’s not bad? Just like you knew that you had to let Anya go?”

“Hey, I don’t have any of the answers,” he admitted willingly. “I guess you just have to go with what you feel. I mean, that’s all any of us have with our memories gone, right?”

Buffy had to admit he had a good point.

* * *

“Do you _feel_ evil?” Clem asked, puzzled by how obsessed his fanged friend seemed to be with this line of conversation.

Spike just shrugged and took another sip of his drink. At least he’d been able to locate a good dive. With Clem’s help, of course.

“I mean, you’re a vampire. Grr. Remember?” Clem winced when he remembered that Spike didn’t. “What difference does it make whether you’re evil or not?” he quickly added, hoping to cover up his little faux pas.

“ _She_ cares.”

Clem sighed. Complete amnesia, but already Spike had developed that same tone of hopeless longing whenever he referred to the Slayer. Clem ate another curly fry and pondered his morose friend.

“How was I s’posed to know I was evil?” Spike suddenly demanded. “Y’know, they never even told me what I did…” He grumbled into his drink. “Not fair, that. Blamin’ a bloke for things he can’t even remember.”

* * *

“I mean, we’ve been blaming him for all these things and assuming he’d know why we were shunning him, but what if he really didn’t know?”

Buffy was getting agitated. She realized it as she walked back and forth in front of Xander, but she couldn’t stop herself. The more she thought about it, the more flaws she found in Rupert’s theory about Spike’s evilness and culpability. The more she wanted to find flaws, too.

“Well, it would be difficult to know for sure what he remembers or not,” Xander tried to gently point out.

Buffy shot him her nastiest glare as she stopped in front of him and crossed her arms. “I thought you were on my side,” she demanded. “And now you’re with Rupert?”

He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Calm down, I’m not against you. Or against Rupert. I’m just trying to figure things out, like you.”

“But that’s the whole problem!”

Buffy started pacing again, exasperated not by Xander but by the ridiculous situation they were in.

“How can we figure things out when we don’t even talk to him and try to get his side of the story?”

This time, Xander remained quiet, only expressing his lack of solution by a shrug. Buffy sighed; she had thought she would find answers by talking to someone who, unlike Dawn and Rupert, didn’t have such strong feelings where Spike was concerned, but she was getting nowhere.

“I’d better go,” she told Xander with an apologetic smile. “Thanks for listening to me.”

“Anytime,” he smiled. “I wish I could have helped more than that.”

He walked her back to the door and they hugged, less awkwardly than Buffy would have expected, like the friends they seemed to be might have done in similar circumstances. And maybe that was the answer. Do what came naturally. And if that meant doing things she may not have done with her memories intact…well, after all, who cared?

* * *

“Yeah, that’s rough,” Clem agreed, ears flopping merrily as he nodded.

“’S just…” Spike trailed off in frustration. “Argh!” He slammed back another beer.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Clem added pleasantly.

“That was the most inarticulate statement ever uttered,” Spike looked at him askance, eyes accusing.

Clem grinned sheepishly. “Thought you were too drunk to catch me,” he apologized. “But I’ve heard it hundreds of times before. Mostly about the Slayer.” He sipped his drink.

“Really?” Spike perked up at the mere mention of his past relationship with Buffy.

“Oh yeah,” Clem agreed. “You were all, ‘I’m off to stalk Buffy again. Do I look properly evil, in case she catches me?’ And then I’d say, ‘You’ve got spicy sauce on your chin, and that kinda detracts from the menacing creature of the night thing.’ And then you’d wipe it off.” He sighed. “Ah, good times…”

“So, I was tryin’ to kill Buffy?” Spike still had difficulty wrapping his mind around the subject. The last thing he wanted to do now was cause his Slayer harm.

“At first,” Clem agreed. “I mean, you killed the two Slayers you met before her.”

“I _what_?”

“Oh yeah. You were the hero of the demon world. We’d all tuck in our kiddies and tell them to eat their intestines, and one day they’d be Slayer-killers like you.” Clem paused. “Er, that was before the ‘do what your sires say, or you’ll get a chip just like Spike’ stories.”

Spike grunted. Clem had told him about the chip earlier, and he was still trying to process the information.

“Sorry about that again.” Clem patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Startin’ to see why she hates me now,” Spike grumbled sullenly. “I mean, what kind of girl would wanna be with a monster like me?”

“Well, that was the Harmony girl and – oh right.” Clem finally recognized the pity party for what is was.

“Slayer deserves better’n me, anyway,” Spike sighed reluctantly, taking up the whiskey bottle and drinking deep. Oh yeah, drowning his problems was the best solution here.

* * *

 _I’m starting to hate that stupid journal of Rupert’s. I mean, Buffy and Spike were so totally happy together until they realized they weren’t supposed to be. And I don’t care what anyone says. Spike is way cool. Why else would he have walked me home last night?_

 _Ugh. Everyone’s being so stupid about him, it’s driving me crazy. I mean, our instincts were to trust him. Does anybody else mention that maybe our instincts were good? Yeesh. And they call **me** the kid._

 _And, really, when you think about it, were our lives before the amnesia more real than they are now? Rupert and Anya and Xander don’t seem to think so, since they moved beyond their pasts. I just wish Buffy and Spike could do the same. Because they both look really sad now._

 _Stupid Watcher’s Journal._


	13. Chapter 13

Willow had had a terrible night. Had she been alone, she would have tossed and turned all night long, but even that small relief to her agitation had been denied to her since she hadn’t wanted to wake Tara. She wore the traces of her restless night now, the deep shadows under her eyes making it clear that she hadn’t slept much.

Her hands were shaking a little as she buttoned her blouse, and she forced herself to take big breaths and try to calm down. They were going, once more, to the Magic Box, and she was terrified about how the rest of the group would react once she admitted she was responsible for their memory loss. Tara had been very nice and supportive, but who could tell what the others would say? Could it be that they would cast her aside as they had Spike? She was beginning to suspect how he had felt exactly when shunned for something he didn’t remember doing.

A soothing but hesitating hand squeezed her shoulder lightly, and Willow turned to face Tara. Half hiding behind the curtain of her hair, the other woman smiled shyly.

“It’ll…it will be fine,” she assured Willow. “Don’t worry.”

Returning the smile, Willow nodded.

“You don’t look convinced,” Tara commented, brushing Willow’s hair back from her cheek in a comforting manner.

Willow sighed and leaned in to the gentle touch. “You saw what happened to Spike…”

“They’ll forgive you,” Tara insisted. “And, if they don’t, you still have me.”

Willow bit her lip. “How can you forgive me?” she countered. “I’ve messed with all our lives and…” She threw up her hands in despair. “I don’t even know why.”

Tara frowned on that, puzzling over her response. “Because,” she began slowly, “whatever made you cast that spell is part of a past we don’t even remember. And, whatever it was, it’s gone now. The now!Willow wouldn’t cast it.”

Willow nodded readily enough at that. “What could I have been thinking?” she wondered, perplexed and somewhat disturbed.

Tara shook her head. “We’ll figure it out,” she promised. “Together. Even if everyone else is against us.”

Willow smiled softly at that and took her hand.

Tara gave it a gentle squeeze. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

* * *

“I kinda,” Willow began with a little squeak, looking nervously around at the assembled crowd in the Magic Box, “sorta have a little confession to make.”

As soon as Dawn noticed the comforting smile that Tara was giving Willow, she understood what the confession was going to be. It was so evident, it was a wonder no one had picked up on it before!

“I knew it!” she exulted as she sat up straight, grinning proudly when everyone looked at her. “I so knew that you two are together!”

Blank looks were exchanged around the room, and both Willow and Tara blushed brightly.

“That’s not,” Willow started, and stuttered a little. “We are not…”

She and Tara shared a look, and she paused before finishing, now very quiet: “At least that’s not what I was going to say.”

Dawn pouted and slouched back on her chair, a little disappointed. She had been so sure…

“Willow, what is it you wanted to say?” Giles asked when she didn’t return to her explanation. “I apologize for rushing you, but there are several spells I want to check and…”

“I did it.”

As it was clear no one knew what she was referring to, she added, babbling so fast that her words were a blur: “I did the memory spell. Maybe. I mean, I think I did. There’s this book with a memory spell and my handwriting for ingredients and I think I may have… but I don’t know why and I don’t remember doing it so pleasedonthateme?”

As everyone took in this revelation and silence stretched in the room, Tara’s hand came to cover Willow’s on the table, a soothing gesture that seemed to comfort both women.

“Well, in hindsight that’s not such a big surprise,” Anya commented suddenly. “I mean, Willow brought Buffy back from the dead, so it’s rather obvious she has some pretty big mojo going on.”

Rich, beautiful silence followed Anya’s statement. The air-conditioning turned on, creating a cool breeze. A jackhammer started up on the roadwork down on fourth. Somewhere, in the distance, a dog barked.

And, finally, Buffy spoke. “What?!”

And, unfortunately, Rupert spoke at the same time. “You read my journal!” he accused, horrified.

Buffy blinked and turned to look at him, too. “What’s she talking about? What are _you_ talking about?” she demanded.

Anya just gulped when she belatedly realized she’d accidentally divulged that she had taken the journal last night. Which, of course, meant that she had to explain _why_ she had taken the journal last night…

“But it’s all right because I’m not a demon anymore. The journal even said so,” she answered Rupert’s accusation.

“I was going to tell you,” Rupert promised Buffy, “but I was waiting for the approp—” He paused in sudden astonishment. “What’s this about you being a demon?” he spun on Anya.

“You mean it’s true?” Buffy whimpered. “I’m a zombie?”

“I made her a zombie?” Willow gave Buffy an apologetic look.

“I _knew_ it!” Anya shrieked in victory. “I knew you’d turn on me the instant you found out. Just like you did to Spike.” She clenched her fists to her side, and her eyes began tearing. “W-Well, it’s not fair! I can’t help my demonic past. I can’t even remember it!”

“Anya,” Rupert’s expression softened, “I had no idea that—”

“And you’re so…random about your pronouncements, too.” She waved her hands about wildly. “I mean, no one cares that Dawn’s a Key. Or The Key. Or whatever.”

“Huh?” Dawn had rather been enjoying her freedom from the verbal volleys that were flying across the room. “I’m a what?”

“Is _anyone_ in the room human?” Xander looked around nervously. “Am _I_ human?”

Tara just kept quiet and hoped she wasn’t next on the evening’s revelations.

Rupert and Anya ignored all pleas around them as Anya suddenly burst out into tears and began pounding ineffectually at his chest.

And Buffy finally decided that she’d had enough. “Stop!” she shouted out over the growing cacophony of voices. Amazingly, they all stopped and turned to look at her. She let out a deep breath. “Now,” she said calmly, “let’s talk this all through, slowly, and one at a time.” General compliance all around. Good.

And she whimpered again. “I’m a zombie?”

“You are _not_ a zombie,” Rupert assured her. “Zombies are by definition dead. But while you _were_ dead for several months, you are now alive. And completely human.”

Apparently flustered by the blank looks he was receiving, Rupert cleared his throat before adding: “I…well…researched the subject. When I found out about your…passing.”

“Aha!” Her eyes still red and her cheeks still wet, Anya shook an angry finger dangerously close to Rupert’s face. “There we have it again! One more proof that you discriminate against people who aren’t exactly like you!”

Shaking his head in incomprehension, Rupert tried to keep his voice calm despite the irritation he felt growing in him. First she had stolen his journal, then she was throwing everyone into shock with her untimely revelations, and now she wasn’t making any sense at all.

“What are you talking about, Anya? All I did was try to understand what is going on…”

“Sure,” she snorted. “Like when you threw Spike out because he’s a demon so of course he had to be responsible for all this. Well, there you have it. Demons – and ex-demons – aren’t all that bad. And humans can do stupid things!”

Singled out by Anya’s accusing finger, Willow let out a little sound of distress, and Tara comforted her with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“OK, you two slow down a little,” Xander requested of Rupert and Anya as they glared at each other. “How about you put everyone on the same page and tell us everything you know?”

With all Anya’s talks of demons and ex-demons, Xander was starting to wonder what exactly he was. He thought she had said that she had been a demon, and since he had been about to marry her… could it be that he had been a demon, too? He wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or thrilled at the prospect. After all, just about everyone else seemed to be special in some way, so why not him?

“Fine,” Anya grumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Here’s the truth. I was a vengeance demon for a thousand years. But something happened to me and now I’m human. And Rupert is being completely unfair and narrow-minded by treating me like a second-class citizen.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” Rupert exploded, gesturing at Anya with his glasses. “How could I be unfair to you when I didn’t even _know_ you were a demon!”

Her eyes widened and she started stuttering something along the lines of: “But…it was in your…your journal, so…”

Rupert’s features softened a little. “I didn’t read all of it. And even if I had…”

Taking advantage of his hesitation, Dawn and Buffy jumped in the conversation at once, the first eager, the second whimpering.

“So what’s a Key? Do I have cool super powers too?”

“Are you _sure_ I’m not a zombie?”

“You’re not a zombie,” Rupert insisted impatiently. “I explained before. You were merely…resurrected.” He sounded uncomfortable with the word and quickly turned to Dawn. “And, as for being the Key, I do not believe it has any outward effect on you whatsoever, and you are – for all intents and purposes – an ordinary teenage girl.”

“You mean she gets to be a zombie vampire slayer, and I don’t get _any_ powers?” Dawn exclaimed in disappointment. “That’s not fair!”

“He said I wasn’t a zombie!” Buffy protested. “And you should be grateful that you’re…well, kinda abnormal, too, I guess…”

“What _is_ a Key?” Dawn asked curiously.

Rupert sighed. “I’m afraid the exact details are sketchy at best. But the Key seems to be a portal that opens the barriers between dimensions.”

“I can do that?” Dawn bounced excitedly.

“Possibly. Although to do so would end the world,” Rupert added hastily.

“Oh.” Dawn’s expression drooped.

“Back to the rest of us,” Xander cut in, “I’m marrying a demon? What am I then?”

Rupert and Anya exchanged a look.

“You’re…Xander,” she shrugged. “And I thought we’d called the wedding off?”

“Right,” he nodded. “So no super-human strength? Amazing mental powers? Imperviousness to chocolate’s seductive delights?”

Rupert just shook his head in disbelief.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Dawn whispered.

Xander nodded again, although he wasn’t sure whether to be glad or disappointed that he was normal.

“Am I…” Tara started, then hesitated when eyes turned to her.

“Normal,” Giles answered. “At least, I think you are.”

“So, what about me?” Willow asked hesitantly. “I must have really strong powers if I can, you know, resurrect people from the dead and erase everyone’s memories.” She tried to make a joke out of it, but she still felt terribly guilty about her role in their memory loss.

“Yes, very strong,” Anya confirmed. “Rupert wrote about how he was worried that you were using too much magic and it would end badly.”

“I did?” Rupert asked, surprised. He really ought to have read his journal more closely.

“He did?” Willow meeped.

“He did?” Buffy frowned. “So why did you accuse Spike when you had such a big clue that Willow was responsible?” She gave the blushing redhead an apologetic smile. “No hard feelings,” she assured her. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I just want to understand here.”

Rupert shifted uncomfortably under the curious gazes settled on him.

“Well, as I was saying,” he tried to explain, “I did not read _all_ of my diary. I…skimmed the text.”

Dawn snorted. “So you judged and condemned Spike without having the full picture.”

“The rest of his actions seemed to be proof enough,” he protested weakly. “But maybe I was…hmm…mistaken.”

“Maybe?” Dawn repeated. “I _so_ knew he was innocent!”

 _And I treated him like he was the worst criminal_ , Buffy thought glumly. _Why didn’t I trust my feelings?_

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Buffy spoke up softly at first, her mind racked with guilt and maybe just a little anger, too. “Spike didn’t cast the spell that cost us our memories.” Willow nodded sheepishly. “Spike had no clue what happened, just like the rest of us.”

“Well, there’s no proof that—” Rupert began.

Buffy glared at him. Oh yeah, definitely angry.

“Correct,” he agreed with a sigh. “Or so it would seem.”

“So we kicked an amnesiac Spike out on the street with no clue what he’s supposed to have done wrong?” she asked with false sweetness.

“All the evidence indicated that he was responsible,” Rupert insisted.

“From your ultra-careful skimming,” Buffy accused.

“In retrospect, I may have acted prematurely,” he conceded sheepishly. Inwardly, he was just as furious with himself as she was. How could he possibly have jumped to such an erroneous conclusion? He had, of course, felt betrayed when he’d learned that Spike wasn’t actually his son. But surely that couldn’t have colored his entire judgment of the vampire, could it? The look on Buffy’s face was enough to tell him that it could, and had.

“So…um…” Willow spoke up quietly. “What do we do? To fix this, I mean?”

Rupert turned his attention back to her. “You have the book, I suppose? That should provide adequate information to lift the spell.”

“Right.” Willow smiled bravely and handed the book over. Inside, she was shivering, however. _Using too much magic. End badly…_ Hadn’t it already ended badly? Wasn’t this spell the worst thing she could do? What if there was something _worse_? What if, as soon as she got her memories back, whatever had made her cast this spell was back and she put them all in danger again?

Tara gave her a soft smile and brushed the hair back from her shoulder.

Willow gulped. What if she hurt Tara? _Really_ hurt Tara?

“You do that,” Buffy agreed, “and keep an eye on Dawnie while you’re at it.”

“Wait,” Rupert said in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“To apologize.” The bell over the door jingled behind her as she exited the shop.

And Anya instantly started bawling again. “I should’ve known you’d end the spell as soon as you found out what I was! You don’t want to be with me anymore!”

Rupert’s attention turned from Buffy back to the matter at hand. Good god, would he never be able to convince her that he hadn’t the slightest intention of leaving her?

He looked to Xander for any consolation. The young man merely appeared to be considering himself quite fortunate that this wasn’t _his_ predicament.

Rupert sighed. On his own again. And this time he’d best not make another mistake…

* * *

Buffy paced the cemetery nervously, hands clenched into fists at her side. Sure, her plan had _sounded_ easy. She could see it, her saying she was sorry, him telling her he forgave her and loved her, and then… Mmm…Spike lips.

The problems with that scenario were that, A) He was probably royally pissed, B) He was probably very hurt and alone and miserable right now, and god even _thinking_ about it made her feel miserable, too, and C) There was still that ‘he’s a vampire and my mortal enemy’ thing. She sighed. When had life gotten so complicated?

At the very least, she told herself, she owed him an apology. And once she was done with that, she would have a better idea of whether he could forgive her – and the rest would follow. Or not. It was all so confusing… Too many revelations at once had left her with more questions than answers. Apparently, she had died. Shouldn’t she have felt sad or freaked out about that? She wasn’t feeling anything of the sort, merely curiosity about the how’s and why’s, as if it had been a story about someone else, not her. And then there was Dawn, all mystical and keyish – what did it all mean, and did it really matter? Certainly her sister wasn’t any different now from the girl she had been before the revelation, was she? Same thing for Anya – what did it matter if she had been a demon?

She felt disconnected from all of it, as if the bits and pieces she had recovered from her past had no meaning to the person she was now. And if she continued on that line of thought, shouldn’t it mean that whatever Spike had been or had done _before_ was now irrelevant?

Clinging to the momentary calm she’d achieved, she took a deep breath and finally approached his crypt. Her palms were sweaty, and she wiped them on her pants before knocking on the door. Three knocks, and then she waited. And waited some more. And started getting annoyed. She knew he was inside, a deep-seated certitude born from the neat impression that she could feel him. So why wasn’t he coming to the door?

Again – and a little more forcefully this time – she knocked. The door still didn’t open, but this time there was a reaction. A shout.

“Go ‘way!”

Exasperated, she gave up on politeness and simply walked in. He leapt from where he had been seating on the sofa and turned to her, growling.

“I told you to go away!”

“You didn’t tell me anything; you shouted,” she replied absently, her eyes drawn to the bottle in his hand. Was he drunk? This wasn’t going to be much fun if he was. Not that it would be fun in any case…

“Listen, I’ve come to…”

“I know why you’re ‘ere,” he interrupted her abruptly, stumbling a little over the words. “You’re the Shlayer, I’m the slayer of Shlayers. You’re ‘ere to die.”

Too baffled to manage to utter a word, Buffy watched him empty what was left in the bottle in one long gulp. Then, looking straight at her, he shook his head and his features rippled into those of a demon. She had the time to see a glimpse of fangs before he threw the empty bottle against the wall and lunged at her.


	14. Chapter 14

“I think it’s clear,” Rupert had said almost half an hour ago now, despite feeling a bit unsure of himself due to the Spike and Anya fiascoes, “that our primary course of action must be to find a way to end Willow’s memory spell.”

The actual work involved in this wasn’t much, however. Mostly, Rupert read through Willow’s magic book, occasionally asking her questions. Anya sulked that he was so eager to throw her out on the street. Xander looked bored whenever Rupert didn’t have another text or some supply for him to go fetch. Tara stayed by Willow’s side, offering a comforting hand. Dawn, with nothing better to do, sat beside them, occasionally smiling softly when she caught the hand-holding. It was clear that there was one person who didn't blame Willow for the magic gone awry.

Willow herself, rather than sit there and feel guilty, had opened up the Watcher’s Journal Anya had produced from her bag earlier and was thumbing through it cautiously, almost as if it would bite.

She found so much of her life written out there, the first beginnings of magic. Rupert feeling proud of her potential. Then, him growing mildly concerned. The concern had melted away when her magics had become instrumental in defeating some god named ‘Glory’. And what kind of name _was_ Glory for a god, anyway?

There was silence then, for a time. Over a three-month gap between Rupert’s pronouncement that Buffy had died and his cautious enthusiasm that she was alive once more.

And that was, apparently, when Willow had lost it.

“He really got kind of mad at you, huh?” Dawn whispered right against her shoulder, startling Willow. Absorbed in what she had been reading, she hadn’t noticed that the teen had slid close enough to read.

“You’re not supposed to be reading this stuff,” she protested half-heartedly.

Dawn grimaced as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to see what it says about me. I have a right to know.”

And there really wasn't much Willow could say against that. She gave Tara a questioning glance that was met with a small approving smile, and then pushed the book on the table so that Dawn could read more easily.

 _“Despite her assurances that she is fine, Buffy appears to be very distracted, and her mood is not improving. I hesitate about questioning her more thoroughly about whatever memories she may retain from her passing and what happened subsequently. While knowing more about her state of mind could certainly allow me to help her, I am reluctant to give her more reasons to rely on me. After her mother’s death she showed herself strong for Dawn's sake, but…”_

It took Dawn’s mind a couple of seconds to process what she had just read. _Her mother’s death._ Her mom was dead.

She had begun suspecting and fearing as much, but to see it like this, written black on white in that precise penmanship, made it somewhat more real. But not any harder. Was it wrong that she didn’t feel _anything_ about her mom dying? Or was it a blessing not to remember what had probably been very painful?

Pushing the issue to the back of her mind, she forced herself to resume her reading.

 _“…she showed herself strong for Dawn's sake, but she now appears more lost than she ever was before, still too shocked by her return to take proper care of herself or her sister.”_

The words echoed the ones in Dawn’s own diary, where she had complained that Buffy wasn’t paying her any attention.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetie…” Tara was apparently just reading the part about Dawn’s mom’s death.

Dawn bit her lip and shrugged. “I just can’t remember…” she trailed off.

“I’m beginning to think I don’t _want_ to remember.” Willow was slumped forward onto the table, arms folded over a stack of books and chin resting upon them as she considered her past. “Why would I do all that?” she asked with a whimper.

“Rupert makes that comparison to a drug,” Tara suggested.

“But you’re a witch, too, and you don’t seem to be all addicted,” Willow countered. “A-And we did that little spell earlier to see if I was the one who…” She looked guilty again at the very thought. “I don’t feel addicted now, after that,” she finished in a quiet voice.

“R-Rupert did say you were…prone,” Tara ventured hesitantly.

“Then why amn’t I snorting burba weed right now and painting psychedelic rainbows on the ceiling?”

They all smiled at the notion.

“Simple,” Dawn answered matter-of-factly. “You can’t remember any of the experiences that made you prone, or any of the reasons you got so hooked in the first place.”

“Great,” Willow sighed. “So I’m not just a magic-crack addict. I _also_ have major psychological problems.”

Put that way, Dawn winced.

“Don’t…don’t say that,” Tara chided her gently. “You heard Professor Dorman yesterday. He called you one of the brightest students he ever had.”

“When I actually show up for his class,” Willow completed the quote. She didn’t sound as depressed as before, but did show a healthy amount of self-derision. “Looks like I’ve been slacking, huh? At least I’ll have an excuse, you know, other than memory loss, if I don’t catch up with the course.”

“I’m sure you will,” Tara assured her gently, before shifting her attention to Dawn. “And speaking of slackers, someone else here needs to return to school.”

Dawn let out a little distressed noise. “But I don’t remember anyone! Or even what subjects I have!”

“It will be OK, you’ll see. Willow and I managed to find what classes we have, I’m sure you’ll catch on too. And it’s not like the other students actually remember the material any more than you do.”

There was an amused twinkling in Tara’s usually so shy eyes, and Dawn couldn’t help smiling at her joke. None of them cared at that moment that it would all be irrelevant once they retrieved their memories.

* * *

Buffy’s body instinctively tensed as Spike lunged at her; she didn’t want to fight him, she only wanted to talk, but that didn’t mean she would let him hurt her.

Of course, seeing how he tripped on his own feet and ended up sprawled on the ground in front of her, it looked like he was trying to hurt himself rather than her. He shook his head as he sat up, and when he threw a sulky glare up at her she realized that she was grinning maybe a bit too widely.

“And you call yourself a predator?” she couldn’t help teasing him. “That attack had all the grace of a mack truck.”

His nostrils flared, and he glared up at her from his place on the floor. “’S no way to treat an emenemy,” he slurred his speech. “Fight me!” His vision unfocused for a second, and he blinked confusedly. “All three of you!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You’re drunk,” she finally stated the obvious.

“Afraid to fight me, shlayer?” he demanded, trying to bring forth his vampire face since it had vanished as he tripped over his own feet. It didn’t come, though. Odd.

Buffy was a bit puzzled as to why he was squinting his eyes and making funny faces, but she had more important things to deal with at the moment. With a sigh, she gave him a steadying hand as he tried to stand up again.

He wobbled on his feet, and she ended up catching him, staggering under the weight of his body. Not that she wasn’t strong enough to lift him easily, but he was big (compared to her, anyway), and his feet seemed to be falling out from under him, and – despite the smell of liquor – he still had that Spike scent about him that drove her absolutely wild. She shook her head, getting her mind back on track.

His face buried against her throat, he muttered complaints. “S’posed to hate me,” he informed her. “’m a bad vampire, and you’re s’posed to kill me like the heartless demon I am and…” He paused, nuzzling her throat lightly. “Could do you in right now,” he insisted.

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. “No, you can’t. And you can lay off with the ‘evil vampire’ routine.” She bit her lip. “W-We found some things out, and it turns out you’re—”

“A monster!” he cut in. “Don’t deserve you holdin’ me all soft and warm-like…” He didn’t seem to be objecting, though, and a little purr escaped his chest. “Need a drink,” he grumbled under his breath.

“No,” Buffy countered, “you need a cold show—” She broke off in mid-sentence when she realized that, yes, that was _exactly_ what he needed so that they could actually have something approaching a coherent conversation.

She remembered the ‘bathroom’ they had discovered in the lower level when exploring his crypt for the first time. It was barely more than a hole in the wall, an exposed pipe and a curtain, but it would be perfect to sober him up. Now about getting him there…

“You’re evil, huh?” she said, pulling back carefully so that she wouldn’t throw him off balance. He wobbled as he nodded vigorously, but remained standing.

“Evil,” he agreed. “The evilest. They say I killed two Schayers and…”

He seemed to remember suddenly what she was, and what an evil demon like him ought to be doing.

“Catch me, then,” Bufy grinned, and jumped back. As she expected, he followed her, his lack of coordination preventing him from catching her. It wasn’t hard to lead him to the lower level, but pushing him under the icy spray of water took a little more muscle, and making him stay under there involved getting a little wet herself.

His incoherent sputtering finally died, replaced by an indignant: “Will you bloody well let me out of here, you bloody woman!”

She counted thirty more seconds before finally letting go of his wrists and stepping back. Good thing she had taken off her jacket, but the sleeves of her shirt were wet. It was nothing, however, compared to Spike.

He stepped out of the shower area, and despite the situation and his glare Buffy had to fight not to laugh. He was completely drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead and a puddle forming at his feet, and…

The laughter died in her throat. His t-shirt was sticking to him so closely that it looked painted on, revealing perfect abs and a chest that she itched to touch. Suddenly, shoving him under the water to sober him up didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. Because now all she could think of was getting him out of his wet clothes and… Bad Buffy!

Spike, oblivious to her dilemma, looked down at himself and sighed. “Just great.” He grabbed the drenched fabric that clung to his chest and pulled it out, scrunching his face up in distaste at the squishing sound his boots were making. “You have any idea how long it’ll take to dry all this?” His feet still shook slightly, but the slurring of his voice had stopped.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, we need to have a serious discussion, and what with you going on and on with the ‘oh, I’m bloody evil’ rants? It _sooo_ wasn’t going to happen without serious intervention.”

He grumbled and without any thought for the consequences, peeled the wet t-shirt slowly off his chest.

Buffy gulped. _Belated thought: Serious discussion also unlikely to happen with wet, stripping Spike._ “U-Uh, you’ll need a towel…” She quickly scampered off to one of the old dressers, heart pounding in her chest.

Spike grinned as he watched her go and then blinked as the world tilted again. “OK, point,” he finally agreed.

“Huh? What?” She was back with the towel now, and before she could think about it, she was rubbing the terry cloth over those hard, wet abs. _Mmm…Spike…_

“That ‘m right snookered?” He gave her a ‘duh’ look. Apparently, drunk!half-naked!Spike wasn’t capable of deciphering the cause of her distraction.

With a sudden mental slap, Buffy pulled her eyes away from the flat, dusky nipple she’d just dried with the towel and looked up at his face. “Right,” she agreed. “I have you tell you…” She gulped. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

He grunted. “For what? That I turned out to be a bloodsucking monster? Not _your_ fault.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry for the calling you a bloodsucking monster thing. Or assuming you were. Whatever.”

With a weary sigh, he collapsed on the bed. His jeans seemed to have missed most of the shower spray so that it didn’t look like he was going to try to take them off. Which, hey, was a good thing. Buffy was having a difficult enough time trying to remain coherent around shirtless!Spike. _Pants_ less!Spike would probably cause spontaneous sexual combustion or something…

“’S what I am, isn’t it?” He finally said softly, sounding so forlorn that the urge to reach out and touch him was almost unbearable.

“Actually, you’re not,” she stammered, twisting the towel in her hands so that she wouldn’t go ahead and touch him.

He shook his head, and for an instant his features rippled to that of the demon. “’M not? How do you explain this, then?”

“Well, yes, you’re a vampire,” she conceded as she gingerly sat next to him on the bed, not close enough to touch but she could have sworn she could _feel_ him even so. “But the thing is, you’re not exactly a _bad_ vampire.”

“The hell I’m not!” he exclaimed, sounding offended as he jumped to his feet. “I killed Slayers! And I… I…”

Calming down, he tilted his head at her. Damn, but she was adorable sitting there all nervous and trying to convince him that he wasn’t bad. And if he wasn’t, and she was here, did that mean…

“I’m not bad?” he inquired softly, unsure about what he wished she would answer now.

“You _were_ bad, with the Slayers killing and all that, and that’s why we thought that you had done that memory spell on us.” She swallowed heavily at the light of understanding that lit in his gaze.

“So, that’s why you and Dad… I mean, Rupert, that’s why you threw me out, heh?” he asked coldly.

She nodded, her throat tight with guilt – or maybe from the sight of his bare chest rippling as he paced back and forth. It was hard to think when his every move was distracting, but she managed to explain to him what they had first found out about him in Rupert’s journal, and what a second, more detailed reading had then revealed.

“I’m sorry,” she concluded. “We were hasty, and we hurt you, and…I’m sorry.”

 _And can we make up now?_ a little voice added in her mind.

His jaw ticked as he paced before her, but at the “I’m sorry” he came to an abrupt halt before her. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he’d intended for the gesture to be dramatic. But, instead, as he stopped, he boots made an odd squishing sound. So much for taking things seriously…

She fought the small smile that threatened to curve the corners of her lips. “Your boots are squishy,” she pointed out softly.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Right.”

She watched him as he sat back down on the bed and disentangled the frightening mess that held the boots on his feet. When it became clear that he was still a bit too wobbly to do so easily, she cautiously knelt before him on the floor to help.

A sharp gasp escaped his lips, and his desire for her was suddenly back in full. And how unfair _was_ it that she was trying to talk about all this serious stuff when that hot little mouth was less than a foot away from…

He gulped, took a deep breath, and spoke up. “You’re sorry?” he repeated.

She bit her lip nervously and stared intently down at his right bootlace, which looked as though a dozen or so spiders had woven it into an indecipherable mess. Except, y’know, without that whole ‘nature’s beauty’ element to it.

“We…” she began slowly. Stopped. Started over again. “ _I_ thought you had brainwashed us all just to…get close.” She blushed at the memories. “Rupert had all this evidence and… Well, it _seemed_ conclusive at the time. But I was wrong, and…I’m sorry.”

Funny the one part that stuck in his head. “Get close? Guess that means we weren’t…” He sighed. He’d been beginning to suspect that they hadn’t been lovers – far from it – but some part of him had held out that inkling of hope. So much for that…

Buffy shook her head slowly. “No…” She finally got off the troublesome boot and looked up at him for the first time. “But I’m thinking that memoryful!Buffy was so blinded by past… _unpleasantness_ that she didn’t see what was right before her eyes.” Memory _less_ Buffy belatedly realized which portion of him was right before her eyes and hastily got up, sitting down on the bed beside him carefully. Again, not so close they were touching, but close enough that they could if they wanted to.

He was silent at that, didn’t know quite what to make of it. On the one hand, he had his demon buddies saying that he was Satan’s posterboy, and on the other, the Slayer seemed to be saying that she was still… _interested_? Or maybe he was just overly hopeful. Or confused. Or drunk.

“I…” He found himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

“Anyway, I’'m sure you still have a lot of questions, and we’re sort of starting to figure things out back at the Magic Box, and you should probably be a part of that, and…and…” She’d abruptly taken up babbling for sudden fear of what he might say. Spur-of-the-moment decisions might definitely be of the bad. Except, of course, for her sudden spur-of-the-moment decision that, oops, she was kind of in love with him after all and probably had been the whole time, and…

“Wouldn’t miss the opportunity to have it out with dear, old Rupert for the world,” he commented wryly, distracted for the moment from thoughts of their relationship.

Buffy decided that was a good turn of topic for now. “Willow cast the memory spell, and she ‘fessed up and brought in the book and everything. So they’re working on how to undo it right now.” _Oh god, what if when they undo it, all those past memories overwhelm everything I feel now, and I don’t want…_ She shook the thought off. A simple matter of memory couldn’t change a person’s feelings so fundamentally, could it?

“Willow, huh?”

Even knowing that she was responsible for all this mess, and therefore for his current heartache too, it was hard for Spike to feel any anger toward the sweet little red-haired witch. Just like it was hard to be angry with Buffy for assuming he had done it when she was so close he could feel her warmth, smell her flowery-soap scent. She had come to him, had apologized, had hinted…

With a soft growl, he took his head between his hands. His drunkenness was fading fast, leaving in its place a headache made only worse by too much confusion and uncertainty.

“You’re OK?” Buffy asked, her voice tinted with worry.

“No,” he replied mournfully. “I’ll be OK when I don’t have to wonder whether I’m good or evil and…”

He stopped abruptly, and darted a quick glance at Buffy from behind his hands.

“And?” she prompted, curious as to what he had been about to say.

“And I don’t think we should continue this discussion ‘til I’m completely sober.”

She was a little disappointed by his answer; she had been so sure she knew what else he was wondering about…

“So, we’re going to the shop?” He pushed the wet shoes in front of him with a toe, apparently less than enthusiastic at the idea of putting them back on.

“We will, but there’s a bit too much sun for that right now for you, I think. Although it would dry you up pretty quick.” Her teasing earned Buffy a mild glare and a snort.

“Funny, luv. Very funny. Going a catch a bit of sleep then. Wake me when sun’s down, ‘K?”

Without waiting for her answer, he slithered up the bed, his eyes instantly closing. Buffy watched him for a few seconds, unsure whether he was asleep yet, and a little annoyed as she wondered what she was supposed to do while he slept. Being drunk definitely wasn’t adding to his charm. Although with abs like his, who needed charm?

Forcing herself to take her eyes off him before the need to touch became too strong, she glanced at the soaked shoes and t-shirt on the floor. They’d never dry like this, and since she was responsible for their state…

Ten minutes later, t-shirt and shoes were on the roof of the crypt, where the afternoon sun would hopefully dry them – or at least, start to dry them – and Buffy was back in the lower level. She observed Spike, trying to reconcile in her mind the different images of him she had. The sans memory Spike from a couple of days before, sweet and patient; the one she had in front of her, drunk, angry, but still sweet in his own way; the evil Spike Rupert had told her about; the less evil Spike his diary had described. Which one was the real one?

She wasn’t sure how she ended up sitting on the edge of the bed. But once she was there, lying down next to him didn’t seem too bad, seeing how he was already asleep. She hadn’t slept much the previous night and she was exhausted. A little nap couldn’t hurt.


	15. Chapter 15

Anya had been watching Rupert nervously off-and-on for over an hour now. Of course, she was _pretending_ to be going over the day’s receipts. But, really, just how long did he think it took to cross-reference all the orders, create back-ups, order replacement inventory, and calculate everything with the master record books (making note of trends and patterns in customer supply and demand, of course)? Really, it should have been clear to him by now that she wanted to talk to him alone.

But, no, he just sat there with his books, eager to recreate a world in which they weren’t engaged anymore. Bastard. Some part of her felt a twinge of vengeance, and she started at it before stamping it down. _Vengeance Demon…_ She shook off the thought. _Former_ Vengeance Demon, she corrected internally.

And why was it that every time she came mentally back to that thought, her resolve to go right up to Rupert and have this whole thing out in the open crumbled to dust? With a sigh, she quadruple-checked the day’s totals. And when she looked up again, Xander had pulled Rupert to the back of the store, and the two of them seemed to be whispering together quite intently. Damn. Now she’d have to wait until they were alone again…

Rupert glanced up quickly to where Anya had been working on those damn books all afternoon, assured himself that they were out of hearing distance, and turned back to Xander. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” he inquired curiously.

“First off,” Xander held out a white cardboard box, “I bear peace offerings.”

With a skeptical expression, Rupert opened the box. “Donuts?”

“The girls were dying from lack of sugar in the back room,” Xander offered. Before frowning. “Should I be disturbed that the location of the nearest donut shop was so hard-wired into my brain that even an amnesia spell couldn’t erase it?”

“Undoubtedly.” There were jelly-filled donuts. Rupert was surprised to find himself salivating at the mere thought. Strange, he would’ve thought himself a scone type of person.

“And second,” Xander cut in craftily while Rupert was mesmerized by gooey red filling, “how are you and Anya doing?”

Rupert coughed pointedly.

“Hey,” Xander held his hands up, “you can tell me it’s not my place to meddle, but in not!Bizarro!Land we were engaged, so I think that gives me some right to care about what happens to her.”

Rupert couldn’t fault that logic.

“There isn’t much to say, really,” the older man said a bit dejectedly. “You’ve heard how things went earlier.”

Xander nodded. “I’ve heard. Doesn’t mean I understood all of it. Anya was a demon, right?”

“’engeance demon,” Rupert agreed around a bite of donut.

“But she’s not anymore, right again?”

“So it would seem.”

Xander couldn’t remember ever having had a tooth pulled – but he doubted the process could be any more painful than what he was doing with Rupert. All that because of a vague sense of duty where Anya was concerned.

“So what is the problem?” he sighed. “I could maybe understand why you’d be reluctant if she was a demon…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rupert interrupted, huffing. “Human or demon, Anya is a very fine woman and I don’t see why it should matter to me what she is. Or was.”

Xander shook his head incredulously. “Then why are you hiding behind your books and completely ignoring her attempts at getting your attention?”

As he dusted powdered sugar off his hands, Rupert seemed mildly offended. “I am not hiding,” he insisted. “I am looking for a way to pull us all out of this terrible mess…”

“And out of a relationship with Anya?”

“Of course not!”

“You had me fooled, then,” Xander snorted. “And I bet you fooled her, too.”

The words startled Rupert, and he briefly glanced at Anya before returning his attention to Xander.

“You mean,” he asked as he took off his perfectly clean glasses and polished them to a new level of cleanness, “that Anya may be thinking that I’m trying to escape our relationship?”

Xander shrugged, but internally he was doing a little dance that Rupert had finally taken the clue.

“I don’t know what’s going on in her head,” he admitted. “But I’ve heard what she said before, and I’ve seen how she’s been looking at you. My opinion for what it’s worth is that you’d better talk to her before you make things even worse.”

Again, Rupert glanced at Anya, and this time he caught her looking at him. Her cheeks flushed as she quickly looked away, and he could only wonder what was going on in her head.

Xander nudged him pointedly in the ribs.

And, with a sigh, Rupert made his way to the register. Strange that he should feel so uncomfortable in this situation. One would think that he’d had enough experience with relationships that he’d be able to handle such situations with ease. Of course, he couldn’t _remember_ any of that experience…

Ah well. Anya seemed a blunt type of woman. Perhaps that was the best way to approach her.

“Xander believes,” he began, clearing his throat to catch her attention, “that you see my efforts to remove the spell as an attempt to end our relationship as well.”

“Yeah? So?” Anya crossed her arms over her chest belligerently.

“It that true?” Rupert demanded.

She shrugged. Strange that he was being the straightforward one and she was aloof. But anything was better than hearing how he didn’t want a demon. Former demon. Whatever.

“Oh dear…” Rupert sighed and looked around. Xander had left the donut box on the table and retreated to the research table with the girls. “I think, perhaps, we had better talk about—”

“How you don’t want me anymore?” Anya practically whimpered, her eyes tearing up. “You complete, prejudiced bastard!”

Rupert took a startled step back at her rather frightening array of emotions. “If you would just allow me to finish a sentence, so I could—”

“Dump me?” She was sobbing outright now.

“I don’t want to dump you, you stubborn woman!” he finally shouted as fast as he could in exasperation.

Across the room, four curious faces blinked at him for his sudden outburst. He gave them a pointed glare, and they returned to their books.

Anya looked up at him, confused. “B-But why wouldn’t you dump me? I mean, you hate me now that I’m a demon…”

“I don’t hate you,” Rupert insisted in disbelief. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“But you said…”

“I said no such thing.”

“Y-Yes, you did. I told you I’d been a demon, and you freaked out.” She looked up at him in defiant triumph before she belatedly remembered that she kind of didn’t want to win this argument.

“I was _surprised_ ,” he corrected her. “Can you honestly say you wouldn’t be surprised if you had learned that I was once a demon?”

“You’re an ex-demon, too?” she asked in surprise.

He sighed. “No, no. It was just an example.”

“Oh.” She pouted. “So you’re back to the moral high-ground again.”

“There is no moral high-ground here, except in your own fears which, frankly, I think I’ve done nothing to confirm,” he defended himself.

She pouted for a minute before she struck upon the basis for all her assumptions. “Yes, you did,” she countered, sniffling again. “S-Spike was your son, and you just threw him out on the street when you knew…” She trailed off.

Rupert sighed as he was reminded of how badly he had handled things where Spike was concerned.

“My attitude concerning Spike,” he started, but cut himself short. This particular apology was owed to the vampire. What Anya needed was to understand how his mind had worked in that occasion, so that she could see nothing of the sort would happen with her. “The truth is,” he started again, “I wasn’t upset about Spike being a demon. I was disappointed… I almost felt betrayed… that he wasn’t my son. It had been so natural to treat him as such… It’s almost like a truly lost a child. That he wasn’t _my_ child didn’t change anything. I was angry, and the anger caused me to act too quickly.”

The explanation seemed to soften Anya a little, and she reached out to pat Rupert’s arm.

“I didn’t realize it had hurt you that much,” she said softly, and then frowned before glaring at him once more. “But I don’t see what it has to do with us.”

Incredulous, Rupert stared at her with wide eyes. “What it has to do…” he repeated, flummoxed. “But you’re the one who brought it up! You’re the one insisting that I’m going to reject you because you once were a demon! You’re the one refusing to understand that I love you and it. Just. Won’t. Happen.”

“Only because _you_ —” she began, arms crossed over her chest sullenly, looked of wronged indignation firmly upon her face. And paused. “W-Wait…” Her voice suddenly turned quiet and uncharacteristically meek. “Did you just say…?”

“I love you, you silly bint,” Rupert exclaimed in frustration. He realized belatedly that she was actually listening to him this time, and flushed in response. “Er, except…pretend I said that in a more romantic way,” he hastily added.

Anya’s lower lip trembled. “B-But I was a demon a-and…” Her arguments fell apart as she tried to process his words.

“And it couldn’t matter less to me,” he agreed. “Nothing has changed, except for that one fact about your past. You can’t honestly believe that something would so trivial could change the way I…?” He trailed off, feeling strangely vulnerable in that moment. After all, her reaction to his announcement was still less than clear.

She sniffed once, smiled nervously, and kissed him. “Good,” she murmured against his lips, “because I feel the same way and completely forgive you for being a Watcher who doesn’t have a vampire for a son.”

He laughed, a strange, giddy sound even to his own ears. “We’ll have to work on our trust issues, it seems.” His lips brushed hers again. “Tonight?”

“Forget tonight,” she retorted. “There are handcuffs in the basement. And I think I deserve an orgasm or three after all the stress you put me through.” She matter-of-factly took his hand and led him to the basement stairs.

“ _I_ put _you_ through?” he repeated in disbelief. And he followed her, unresisting…

* * *

The yelling in the other room stopped, turned quiet. Tara almost thought she heard a moan. Then, the door to the basement slammed, and strange bumping noises started from below.

“Er…yeah,” Xander looked sheepish. “You think they left us any donuts?”

“If you want to find out, _you_ can go check.” Dawn shook her head.

“Looks like you’re a regular match-maker,” Willow grinned at Xander. And then blushed when several very suggestive cries sounded from the basement.

“Yup,” he agreed. “And how about we all go and be match-makers down at the deli on the corner where we don’t have to hear the results of my latest resounding success?”

“Oh, dear gods, yes.”

“Yes, please.”

“ _Now_.”

* * *

Something was wrong. Still half-asleep, Spike had difficulty determining _what_ exactly was wrong, but his body instinctively shifted in an effort to solve the problem. He quickly came into contact with a soft, warm body and spooned up against it, rubbing his erection against the firm little ass he found beside him. There. All better now.

It took him another few moments to process that, wait a minute, who on earth _was_ in his bed?

Opening one eye did all sorts of unpleasant things to his head, but did not allow him to identify the hair in front of his face. He took a deep breath, and unconsciously tried to get even closer to his bedmate when the association was made in his headachy brain between the lovely scent and the Slayer.

Part of him – a very eager and painfully hard part – was glad that she was there, in his bed, even though he couldn’t remember how exactly that had happened. Another part found it difficult to believe that she was really there. Maybe it was all an elaborate hallucination caused by the ingestion of way too much alcohol. Nothing more than a dream. But damn it, if it was a dream, Spike never wanted to wake up.

The hallucination made a little sound, half purr, half sigh, and turned around until she was facing Spike, her head tucked nice and cozy under his chin. At first, he was too surprised to dare move at all, but when she settled again and appeared to be asleep, he slowly moved his arm to hold her a little tighter. This was not a dream. It was much better than a dream.

Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the last thing he remembered. Buffy on her knees in front of him. He groaned softly, the image doing nothing to appease his libido. Buffy holding him under a spray of cold water. That at least explained why his jeans felt damp in some places. Buffy talking and saying…

A frown wrinkled his brow. That couldn’t be right. Buffy apologizing to him? That just felt extremely…foreign, for some reason. That definitely had to have been a dream.

And yet… She was right there, in his bed, in his arms, cuddling with him as if the whole nightmare between them had never taken place, as if she hadn’t tried to shut him out of her life and world…

As before, she made a small noise and started moving, rubbing her cheek against the bare skin of his chest. And then, she froze. Spike had the sudden insight that she had just woken up. Curious as to what she would do, he kept his eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

Buffy could feel her heart beating faster and faster in her chest; any second now, she was going to have a heart attack. And wouldn’t it be a pity to die in Spike’s bed without even having had some fun beforehand? The kind of fun that was insistently pressing against her abdomen and that was definitely not a stake?

She started calming down when she realized he was still asleep. Good thing, that would allow her to slip out of this compromising position and avoid a few questions. She had only meant to lie down and take a short nap, not snuggle up with him.

Of course, there were probably much worse places in which to wake up than a clingy, soft as a baby but hard in all the right places, slightly purring vampire’s arms. And maybe she would stay right where she was a little longer.

She found her hand resting against his strong abdominal muscles and slowly began to brush her fingers across the flesh there. Nervously, she glanced up to make sure his eyes were still closed. Seeing that they were, she allowed herself a small smile as she looked at his body. So beautiful…

The smooth expanse of his chest was pressed against her cheek, and she turned slightly in his embrace to place a soft kiss against his collarbone. God, he smelled so good, and he felt so warm against her. She knew vampires weren’t warm naturally, but spending the day cuddled up with her had warmed his flesh right up. She shifted in closer to him, blushing when her squirming caused him to harden further against her belly.

OK, she _definitely_ had to get out of bed before he woke up and saw the position they were in. But what were the odds he’d wake up in the next five minutes? The next ten? The…

Spike bit back a groan. This pretending to asleep bit was becoming damn near impossible. He’d been curious about what she’d do when she woke up, yeah, but he hadn’t thought she’d practically molest his ‘sleeping’ body. Not that he was complaining, mind you. But if she didn’t stop stroking and kissing him, he was going to demonstrate just how conscious he was in the most embarrassing way possible.

Only one solution, then. He didn’t want her to stop, but that was the only way to go about it. Still pretending to be asleep, he stirred slightly, shifting against her, making a little muttering sound.

Buffy’s lips instantly left his chest, and she tried to pull back. Except somewhere along the way, their legs had gotten tangled up in a hopeless mess, and she tripped and fell right on top of him with a loud “oof.”

“Bloody hell!” he swore, jolting up as her knee collided quite painfully with his stomach. (And, thankfully, just with his stomach.) “If you gonna kill me, at least have the decency to do it while I’m awake!”

“Sorry!” Buffy pushed herself up on her forearms so she was looking down at him. “I-I didn’t want to wake you, and…” She trailed off abruptly when she realized that, oops, he was awake now, and she was tangled up in his sheets, straddling his half-naked body. Her face flushed bright red. “I was just…” A little whimper sounded from her lips.

He smirked. He couldn’t help it. She’d set herself up too perfectly this time. “Couldn’t resist my wicked hot bod?” he teased her. “You want a tumble, luv, all you hafta do is ask…”

She gulped. Flustered beyond belief, she opened her mouth – to say what, she wasn’t sure – but suddenly realized how much fun Spike was having teasing her. That smirk was completely unbearable, and she just had to do something to make it disappear. An eye for an eye…

She lowered herself so that she was pressing her breasts against his torso and murmured, her lips caressing the shell of his ear: “It’s a shame we have to go, or maybe I _would_ have asked.”

When she drew back, his eyes were wide and the smirk was definitely forgotten. He was even breathing, she realized. Now _that_ was good; she had made a vampire so hot and bothered that he was forgetting he didn’t need to breathe.

Trying not to fall and make a fool of herself now that she had taken the upper hand, she disentangled herself from him and got out of the bed.

“I’ll go get your clothes,” she announced with a calm that was only superficial as she slipped her shoes on and went to the ladder. Spike only looked at her, apparently dumbfounded. “Hopefully they’ll be dry,” she continued.

 _And hopefully the sun has set already_ , she added to herself. If they couldn’t go to the store now, her teasing might end up backfiring at her rather soon. Not that she was opposed to some _tumbling_ , as he had offered, quite the contrary actually. It wouldn’t take much at all anymore to convince her that they had waited enough, especially now that she had seen him at both his best and worst. But while she now had a pretty good idea of where she stood, she still didn’t know what he thought exactly of her apology.

There was still light outside, but to Buffy’s relief the sun seemed like it was minutes away from setting. She retrieved his t-shirt and shoes; the first was dry, but the latter were still damp. She couldn’t do any better than that though…

As she had disappeared up the ladder, Spike’s eyes had remained on Buffy. He wasn’t sure exactly where she had gone and why, but it had sounded as though she would be back. Which was good. Very good. Because the more he saw her, the less he wanted to be away from her. And unless he was completely off his mark, she hadn’t been entirely teasing when…

He hummed at the memory of having her in his arms, against him, touching him, and unconsciously slid a hand to the straining hardness in his jeans.

“Your t-shirt’s dry,” her voice announced suddenly, startling him as he hadn’t noticed she was back. “But your shoes…”

She froze, lips formed into a perfect little ‘O’ when she saw what he was doing.

He looked down and belatedly realized himself. “Right.” He could feel his cock twitch even as he took his hand away. Junior knew that approving eyes were on him. He wet his lips and cleared his throat. “’ll live.”

“Uh…yeah.” Blushing once more, she held out his clothes. She had to look away when he took them from her. God, would she be a horrible person if she just jumped him right now and had her wicked way, to hell with Rupert and his spells and, oh yeah, whether Spike was actually _ready_ for them to get all groiny? Although, from the looks of things – very large things – he wasn’t adverse in the slightest…

He pulled his shirt over his head, and the cloth barrier seemed to restore a bit of control to the both of them. It was a relief mentally, if not physically. A part of him still couldn’t believe that there was a pull this powerful between them, yet they hadn’t been lovers…

“Ready, then?” he asked, toeing on his boots. They still made a slight squishing sound. Just lovely. He picked up his coat from the back of the chair.

Buffy watched the leather wrap around his body like a second skin. “Yeah,” she agreed, managing something that remotely passed for a friendly smile.

“And, while we’re at it,” he followed her out the door, “we need to talk.”


	16. Chapter 16

“And, while we’re at it, we need to talk.”

It seemed to Buffy that the words echoed in the graveyard, but that might just have been her imagination. Her imagination that, at this moment, was still running on overdrive from the little scene she had interrupted. However hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the ‘what if’ from her mind. What if she had noticed what he was doing before speaking, and had remained quiet? Would he have continued? Had he been thinking of her? Would she have interrupted him, joined him, replaced his hand with…

“Buffy? Did you hear me?”

She almost jumped as he touched her arm to get her attention, and she realized she had been staring straight ahead, lost in her little fantasy.

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” she stammered. “We need to talk. Talk about what?”

They started walking toward the cemetery’s exit and Buffy felt rather jittery. She noticed the sideways glance he gave her; it seemed almost suspicious, and she suddenly wondered if vampires could read minds. She gulped at the thought; her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“Talk about what you were doing in my bed, for one thing.”

Her little fantasy world crumbled, and her blushing only accentuated with these words. She had been so sure he hadn’t minded… His body, at least, hadn’t, but was he saying that…?

“Not saying I’m complaining,” he added, answering her unvoiced fears with an eerie accuracy. “Just trying to understand, here.”

“I-I…” Her hands flailed widely as she tried to explain. Suddenly emotions that had seemed crystal clear when she’d woken up in his arms defied all description. “Well, you were sleeping, and you just left me there with nothing to do, and I was tired, a-and your bed was warm and comfy!” she insisted. _Warm, comfy, and Spike-filled…_

“Right, then,” he sighed. “More convenient to just stay put than to go home and come back later.” He scanned the cemetery around them, keeping an eye out for nasties. That, and it was good distraction from his own confusion about her motives.

“Yes,” she agreed, “but no. I mean…” She let out an exasperated little sound. “It never occurred to me to go home. I wanted to be, well…” A blush colored her cheeks. “With you,” she admitted quietly.

He perked up at that. “Oh?” He knew right then that he should up and ask her if she still wanted to be with him in other ways. But, frankly, the question terrified him. And he got the impression he wasn’t the sort to scare easily.

“I missed you, OK?” she exclaimed in exasperation. Huh. Funny how it was easier to say what she meant when she was annoyed. “I hadn’t seen you for too long, and…” _It was all my fault._ She expected him to jump on the unspoken accusation, but he didn’t.

“Missed you, too,” he admitted wistfully. “Gets lonely in a crypt by yourself, y’know?”

She reached over to touch his shoulder, and she could’ve sworn she could feel a spark between them.

He turned to look at her, halting in the middle of the cemetery, his body so close…

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” she informed him before pulling back and continuing to walk ahead.

He ran to catch up with her, one eyebrow quirked upward curiously. “What doesn’t hafta be like what?” he demanded. Such an enticing little enigmatic sentence she’d uttered…

“J-Just that…with the lonely…and the crypt and, y’know…y’know…” Oh joy. Flustered!Buffy was back.

Buffy was staring straight ahead and she was now walking a little faster, as if she could run away from the conversation, but Spike just couldn’t let her do that, not when there seemed to be so interesting things going on in her mind. He gently grabbed her arm, feeling her slight jump in reaction, and pulled her to a stop.

“Pretend I don’t know,” he drawled, before repeating again: “What doesn’t have to be like that?”

She gulped and looked down at where he still held her arm, but didn’t try to free herself. She had either said too much or not enough, and it didn’t look like Spike was going to let her get away with either. With a deep breath, she took hold of her courage. She was the Vampire Slayer; she wasn’t going to let a vampire intimidate her, even one whose lovely blue eyes appeared to see right through her at the same time as they made her feel like nothing existed but her, and why the hell was her heart beating so fast suddenly?

“It…It was nice, wasn’t it?” she forced the words out, and winced at how desperate she sounded to her own ears. “Sleeping together, I mean. Well, not _sleeping_ together, but you know…”

Her whole body was on fire from what she was saying, and Spike’s way of watching her so intently, with the tip of his tongue peeking between his lips, didn’t help in the slightest.

“I just thought we could do it again,” she finished in a rush. “So, no lonely crypt for you.”

There. She had said it. Now she could breathe.

Or she would as soon as he finally said something.

“You sayin’ you wanna be my bunk-mate, luv?” he asked with faux-innocence, humor gleaming in his eyes.

“Well, I…” She blushed and started walking again. That seemed to be the cure-all for her problems. When she was walking, she didn’t say too much. Of course, she also couldn’t manage anything coherent. But incoherent!Buffy was starting to grow on her. At least incoherent!Buffy wasn’t extra!vulnerable!Buffy. “I mean, really… _woulditbesobad_?”

“Never said it was anythin’ but bliss,” he retorted glibly.

He’d caught up to her again, of course, and she ventured a small smile in his direction. He smirked back, and she felt her body heat up. But from something besides embarrassment this time…

“And what I really meant was, well, not sleeping together… Well, yes, sleeping together, but…” She flinched internally. The moment of harmonious balance gone due to her babbling. “I just want to know…”

“Yes?” he prompted her when she hadn’t said anything for far too long.

She scowled at him. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to give me a little help here. This is hard enough as it is without you being all…vague and enigmatic.” She poked him pointedly in the shoulder.

He chuckled. “Soon as I figure what you’re talkin’ about, luv, ‘d be more than happy to join the conversation.”

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about,” she accused. They came to a halt outside the Magic Box door, and she took full advantage of their sudden stillness to put her hands on her hips and glare at him. “You always knew what I was talking about before, so I’m not really buying that that’s suddenly changed. Oh no,” she ranted, “you’re just being your stubborn, annoying, sexy, jerky self!” She just barely managed to refrain for sticking her tongue out at him at the end of that tirade. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was horrified at how she apparently dealt with her love life with all the maturity of a kindergartner.

“Am I?” he teased.

“A-And with the answering questions with questions bit, too!” she exclaimed in triumph, having caught him firmly in his jerkiness.

“Was there a question in there?” He couldn’t help himself. Really. She was just so gorgeous when she was infuriated, and she was the one who kept leaving him openings like that, anyway.

“Gah!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “I don’t know why I put up with you! Oh, that’s right, I’m actually in love with your supreme jerkiness. I must be insa—” She froze in mid-syllable, eyes wide open when she realized what she’d just revealed.

“Luv?” The teasing light instantly left Spike’s eyes, and his expression turned deadly serious. With one hand, he reached out to slowly touch her shoulder…

“Ohmygodwe’resolate!” she suddenly squealed in horror and practically dove through the Magic Box door.

Leaving Spike standing out on the street, still blinking in disbelief at the spot she’d just vacated…

* * *

“Randy…er, Spike…er…” Rupert flinched internally. The first time he’d seen his son – no, the vampire whom he’d misjudged who was unrelated to him in any way – and already he’d gotten things off on the wrong foot.

“Ooh, yes.” Buffy was instantly behind Rupert, shoving him in Spike’s direction. “You two have things to talk about. Very important things.” _Things that will allow me to safely hide from the sexy vampire who’s now perfectly aware of the fact that I’m in love with him. Craft, thy name is Buffy._

Spike wasn’t sure what to think as Buffy practically fled him, retreating to the back of the store at the table where the rest of the group was assembled. Her words had hardly been anything he had expected, and judging by her reaction, the revelation had come as a surprise to her too. Was it why she was now practically hiding behind her sister? Or was it because she didn’t really mean it? How was he supposed to…

“Spike?” Rupert tried to get his attention, the impatience in his voice hinting that it wasn’t he first time.

Shaking his head slightly, Spike still couldn’t manage to look away from Buffy.

“Bloody woman is playing with my head,” he muttered.

“Yes, well, we are…we’re all still trying to deal with our memory loss, and, well, we may not always be thinking a-as much as we should before we act, and…being hasty never helped to make good decisions, which is why I-I…maybe…”

Spike frowned as he finally pulled his gaze away from the woman who had just admitted she loved him before getting as far away from him as she could, and looked instead at Rupert. There was something off about him, the way his clothes weren’t as neat as they usually were, his hair that looked like it had been combed with hasty fingers, the frantic cleaning of his glasses, and the nearly incoherent stammering.

“What the hell are you rambling about, dad?” Spike interrupted him distractedly, his gaze already returning to the mystery that was Buffy.

Hearing that simple word again – _dad_ – sent a pang of regret through Rupert and left him wordless. He had assumed that Spike would know that they weren’t related, but it seemed Buffy had not told him. What had they talked about all afternoon, then? He wondered, a little annoyed. Annoyance was replaced with uneasiness as Rupert realized he would have to be the one who told Spike. For a brief instant, he wished he didn’t have to; after all, they soon would have their memories back, so why steal from Spike the only family he thought he had? He dismissed the idea; he had to tell Spike precisely because he would soon remember who they all were.

“Listen, there’s something you need to know,” he pleaded, and when Spike kept his eyes on Buffy, he added impatiently: “It’s important!”

Taking the hint, Spike looked at him. “What is it, then?”

Rupert took a deep breath before finally breaking the news as gently as he could. “I’m sorry I have to tell you this, Spike, but I am not your father.”

Spike didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t react in any way, and Rupert stifled a sad sigh. It had to be as crushing for the vampire as it had been for him…

“’S that your important news?” Spike asked at last after a few seconds. “’Cause, I already had that figured out, seeing how I apparently celebrated my first century a while ago, and even if you’re way past your freshness date, you’re not _that_ old.”

Blinking once, then twice, Rupert stared at the slight, smug smile that was pulling at the corners of Spike’s lips. It grated that he appeared so unconcerned when Rupert himself had felt so betrayed. But there was something amiss, he realized.

“If you know, why did you just call me ‘dad’?” he asked with a hint of irritation.

It was Spike’s turn to blink in surprise. “I did what, now?”

“Just now,” Rupert insisted. “You called me ‘dad’.”

“I bloody well did n—” The vehement denial froze on Spike’s lips as he considered this statement. “Fuck…”

“Yes, quite,” Rupert agreed, removing his glasses and cleaning them. “A slip of the tongue, I’m certain.”

“Oh…right!” Spike perked up immediately. “Just haven’t had time to adjust yet…”

“What with everything that’s been happening…” Rupert agreed.

“…Haven’t even seen you since you dumped me on my ass. Obviously just not used to the thought yet…”

“…Completely understandable mistake,” Rupert agreed. “And, er, about the ‘dumping you on your ass’ bit…” He trailed off.

“Right…” Spike examined his thumbnail. It was lamentably clean. He checked underneath for dirt anyway. “No harm in the end, I s’pose.”

“I-It was a grave misconception on my part,” Rupert did his damn best at an apology. “And I would find you entirely justified should you hold the entire thing against me and—”

Anya, who had been watching the entire conversation, finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh for Pete’s sake, Rupert!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “Just tell him you’re sorry and you were a jerk because you wished he had really been your son and let’s move on already!”

Startled, Rupert turned to look at her. Arms crossed over her chest and foot tapping the floor, she was an image of feminine impatience. He loved the woman, there was no denying it, but sometimes she did seem to lack some tact. With a sigh, Rupert turned back toward Spike. The small, smug smile drawn on his lips was quite irritating, and added to Anya’s bluntness it ruffled Rupert.

“Right,” he said coolly as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “I think we’ve said all there was to say about this, yes?”

He didn’t wait for Spike’s answer before nodding and adding: “Fine. Let’s see about this spell, then. I don’t fancy spending the night here.”

With that, he pivoted on his heels and strode decidedly toward the rest of the group where they all sat at the table. Spike watched him go and shook his head a little, amused.

“Whatever you say, dad,” he murmured to himself before following suit.

Buffy quickly looked at him as he approached, before pointedly turning her gaze away. There was a bit of red tinting her cheeks, and Spike was left once again to contemplate what could possibly be going through her mind. Did she mean it? It would explain why she had remained at the crypt with him, in his bed. Why she had apologized and explained what had been going on. Surely, if she hadn’t cared one way or the other, she wouldn’t have bothered to come talk to him.

Would she?

He found a place at the table, across from Buffy so he could watch her, and listened distractedly as his fath…as _Rupert_ blabbered something about spells and ingredients. If Buffy had meant what she had said, what was he going to tell her, when they finally could talk? He was attracted to her, that much was evident, but could he truthfully admit having the same kind of feelings…?

Something Rupert had said caught his attention, and his head snapped toward the human.

“What did you say?”

Spike’s interruption clearly annoyed Rupert, and he rolled his eyes at him in a very upset-father way, Dawn decided. It was funny how they still acted as though they were related. Funny, also, how Buffy was doing all she could not to look at Spike, while he barely seemed able to look away. Dawn suspected that something had happened during the afternoon, and she couldn’t wait to question Buffy about it.

“I said,” Rupert repeated in a long-suffering tone, “that we found a way to reverse the memory spell that has affected us, and as soon as we have all the required ingredients we will be able to regain our memories.”

Spike wasn’t the only one that paled at that. “Ingredients?” Willow whimpered. “What ingredients? Are we talking ‘in the store’ ingredients or ‘wait four to six weeks for delivery’ ingredients?” She began to hyperventilate at thought of what this all meant to her. Funny, but – whatever old Willow’s motivations had been – new Willow was certain she was a lot better off. _Guess that stupid spell worked after all. In its own twisted way…_

Tara patted her hand reassuringly, understanding her distress.

“Well…” Rupert looked somewhat surprised by the outburst. “I did have to send away for several items, but they’re on rush delivery and should arrive within two to three days.”

“Oh.” Buffy squeaked and for the first time dared to look at Spike. It was hard for her to absorb the fact. In three days, she’d remember everything and… _I’ll still love him. Nothing can change the way I feel. Can it?_ But hadn’t losing her memories changed their relationship just as much? If not more?

Spike’s eyes met hers, and they shared a look of panic. She almost smiled at the thought that he wanted things between them as they were just like she did. Of course, she wasn'’t exactly _sure_ how things were between them, since she’d run off before he’d gotten a chance to answer her…

“That’s it, then,” Xander clapped his hands together, feeling like someone should do something to break up the nervous tension in the room. “That wasn’t so hard after all. Not that we were pressed for time or anything. I mean, once we figured out the vital ‘wood goes in the vampires’ bit.”

Spike gave him a disbelieving look.

“What?” Xander asked, with oblivious innocence.

Anya opened her mouth to answer.

“It’s quite irrelevant,” Rupert cut her off instinctively.

Spike nodded numbly.

Xander just looked at them all like they were nuts. “So, yeah… It’s not like it’s a big deal that we have to wait three whole days to get our memories back. I mean, I was as freaked as anybody that it’d mess up my life, but it was surprising how much came to me once I actually got up the nerve to go to work. We’ll survive in the meantime.” He shrugged.

Buffy bit her lip. It wasn’t the _loss_ of their memories that was troubling her. Like Xander, she had adapted. And while it hadn't been as easy as he made it sound, with the whole ‘Spike is guilty except not’ fiasco, there had been no catastrophic event either. From what she had learned about her old life, she wasn’t missing much, actually, and she even had made a few improvements. Like Spike. Maybe. Depending on what he would say when they finally had a minute alone, and she was too worried to look forward to that.

“So… That’s it?” Dawn said suddenly, addressing Rupert. “We’ve waited all this time for Buffy and Spike to arrive and all you had to say was that in three days you’ll have your ingredients?”

Rupert seemed rather flummoxed as he sputtered indignantly: “It was a capital discovery we made today, and it was only normal that everybody be there to hear…”

“OK,” Spike cut in. “We’ve heard. Anything else or can we go now?”

Rupert’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly in a fine impersonation of a fish as he looked at the group; they all stood and started walking toward the door.

“I’ll let you know when I get the ingredients,” he called after them, and got a couple of waves in reply. Anya tapped his shoulder comfortingly.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” she asked quietly.

Rupert looked at her, still disgruntled by the reaction his news had gotten and unsure what she meant. “What?”

“The spell. Our memories. What if you and I…”

He cut her off with a kiss that left her breathless. “I know what I feel,” he assured her. “It’s not going to change.”

And while she did smile at his words, she couldn’t help the hint of worry that kept nudging her unpleasantly.

* * *

All the way back to Revello Drive, Spike gritted his teeth. Had he been alone with Buffy, he would have gotten an answer long before to a simple question: Did she mean it?

But as they were accompanying Dawn, Willow and Tara back home, he could hardly question Buffy. Or at least, he didn’t want to do it in front of the others. If she had said the words without meaning them, he didn’t need anyone else to hear about it. And if she had meant them…well, that left many possibilities open, which also didn’t require witnesses.

Finally, they reached the house, and Spike cleared his throat to catch Buffy’s attention as she appeared ready to hide inside.

“Buffy? Remember that nest of demons we wanted to check out? The one we talked about before arriving at the store?”

Her eyes were wide as she looked back at him, and he could see her swallow. “I’m sure it can wait,” she started weakly, but under his stare she caved in. “Yeah, I guess we’d better…huh…slay these demons tonight.”

Dawn looked suspicious as she closed the door, but Spike didn’t care what she thought. Right then, only what was in Buffy’s mind – and, possibly, her heart – mattered to him.


	17. Chapter 17

“So, right. Patrol. And…demons.”

Spike caught her arm before she could walk two steps. “I didn’t ask you here to fight demons, and we both bloody well know it,” he informed her with an enigmatic smile.

Buffy practically whimpered. Here he was making things not!easy again. Why exactly was she in love with him again?

He took a step closer, and she gasped at the feel of his nearness, at the dark passions in his eyes, at the underlying vulnerability in the curve of his lower lip… _Oh yeah. That’s why._

She gulped. “So, yeah,” she agreed lamely.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” he retorted curiously.

She scowled at him. “From what I remember, _I_ was the one who ended the last conversation with the whole ‘I’m in love with you’ bit. Seems to me the ball’s in your court now.”

“Then, you still…?” He hated the way his voice shook, at how something so simple could make him feel like such a fool.

“You think I’d lie to you?” She asked softly. “About something as important as that?”

Girl had a point. “No,” he agreed.

“So,” she concluded, “your move.”

“We playing chess?” he quipped. “Black knight getting dangerously close to the white queen.”

Following his own words, he stepped even closer, and there were only inches left between them. Buffy swallowed heavily.

“Knight, huh?” she said to distract herself from how close he was. “Isn’t that the one that never advances straight? Because if it is…”

He barely had to tilt his head, lean toward her just a little, and Buffy closed her eyes as his lips touched hers, soft and strong, hesitant in the first second and then more demanding when she didn’t protest. His tongue gently traced at the seal of her mouth and she instinctively let him in, meeting him with a tentative caress of her own.

It was sweet, short and shattering, and when they separated Buffy looked at him in wonder as she brought her fingers up to touch her still tingling lips. The silence stretched between them, and neither of them moved or broke eye contact.

“Was that… was that your answer?” Buffy finally managed to ask.

A small smirk pulled at his lips. “Might have been. ‘S that the kind of answer you were expecting?”

Part of her was indeed ready to accept this as a proclamation, just as long as he did it again. And again. And never stopped.

But at the same time…words were nice.

And so, “Words are nice,” she informed him.

“Words, huh?” He smirked at her, reaching up to trace the line of her cheek with one finger. “Want me to prove it to you?”

She gasped as he descended again and brushed his lips against hers. He only lingered for a moment, though.

“How’s this, then?” He pressed a soft butterfly kiss to her jaw. Everything suddenly seemed so clear to him when they were close like this, their bodies and hearts screaming that they belonged together… “I love you.”

Buffy sighed as his lips trailed down her throat, and her hands clutched in his hair, urging him on. “Oh god,” she whimpered in pleasure when one large hand found her breast and cupped it tenderly.

“Look at me,” he encouraged her, his lips returning to her own.

She hadn’t even realized she'd shut her eyes until he mentioned it. Her eyelids felt heavy with desire, but she did as he asked.

“I love you,” he repeated more slowly this time, and there was no way to doubt the sincerity in the depths of his eyes.

“I…” she began, but his thumb flicked her nipple through the fabric of her blouse, and the words were lost in a haze of ecstasy. It was all too clear that now that she’d given him a chance to speak, he wasn't about to be interrupted.

“You’re all I bloody think about, dream about,” he confessed softly, staggering them both backward until her back was against the house. Fevered lips returned to her flesh, and he whispered his love for her between kisses. “You’re in my gut…my throat…”

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, wrapping her arms and legs around him as she kissed him everywhere she should.

He came up for breath with a startled gasp, his eyes dark with desire. “I’m drowning in you, Buffy.” His voice lowered to a breathy whisper. “I’m drowning in you…”

“You’re not the only one,” she whispered softly.

Their eyes met for a moment, and the kiss that followed was anything but short and sweet. Buffy tasted his moan against her lips, twinned her fingers deep in his hair, and desperately tried to pull him in closer. He growled when her tongue caressed his, and in that moment, her only goal in life was to hear him make that sound as often as possible.

He lifted her up, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist and ground her back into the wall. She let out a hiss of desire, and he could feel the heat of her sex against him even through their jeans. He’d never been this hard in all his life…er, unlife…and only what he remembered of it…although he couldn’t imagine anything turning him this much on even _before_ the parts he remembered, and… Christ, he wasn’t just drowning in her; he was drunk.

Buffy felt herself grow dizzy from the lack of oxygen – or maybe it was just the Spike overdose after having been separated from him for far too long – and reluctantly broke away. He whimpered but rested his head against her shoulder, panting as well.

Finally, he chuckled, and she looked down at him. “Convinced?” he teased lightly.

She smiled softly, cupped his face between her hands. “I don’t think there’s a woman alive who wouldn’t be convinced by a speech like that.”

He grinned.

“So, what now?” he asked as he bent to kiss her neck again. “Shall we…go back to my crypt…”

He involuntarily gave a small thrust against the apex of her legs – or at least, he would have claimed it was involuntary. The truth was, he just couldn’t get enough of these small gasps he was pulling from her throat.

“…or are we still taking things slow?”

Buffy’s hands clenched on his shoulders at these last words.

“Not sure… that’s still an option,” she murmured. “If we’re getting our memories back in a couple of days…”

She faltered then, unsure how to continue. Spike moved back, just enough so that he could look at her, and she winced at the frown drawn over his brow.

“You think things will change when we get our memories back?” he asked coolly. His hold on her was beginning to loosen, and she tightened hers to prevent him from moving away.

“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, uncertainty making the words difficult. “From everything we’ve learned about us before we lost our memories, I know you’ll still love me with your memories back. And I… well, maybe if I have new memories of how good we can be together…”

He arched an eyebrow at her, and her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. Refusing to back up, she added, no louder than a whisper:

“And I just _know_ we’ll be so good together…”

Spike grinned again, his smile utterly predatory.

“Good?” he purred. “Going to be bloody fantastic, you mean.”

And with that, he dove in for her lips, claiming them, and her, once more, until she had lost her breath and her mind. Or almost.

“Not here.” Breaking free from his kiss, she covered the sneaky hand that had started unbuttoning her blouse with her own. “Not… not where anyone could see us,” she added quietly, and he groaned dejectedly.

“God, luv, I’m not sure I can get back to the crypt without self-combusting.”

Buffy smiled to herself. She had the proof of his desire nestled right against her and quite impossible to ignore, but it was still very nice to hear him admit how much he wanted her.

“Who said we needed to get back to the crypt?” she asked seductively. “I’ve got a nice bed myself. Right above us, actually.”

His gaze lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning.

“We’d have to be quiet, though,” she continued.

“Oh, I can be quiet,” he assured her quickly. “The question is, can you?”

Another thrust of his lips predictably caused a gasp to escape her lips; the smugness in the curve of his lips was quite intolerable, and Buffy erased it with a kiss.

 _Oh, you will pay for this, Mister_ , she thought. _Just wait. You’ll see who won’t be able to be quiet._

Belatedly, she realized that the goal _was_ to be quiet, not the opposite. Maybe going to the crypt wouldn’t have been such a bad idea…except that she couldn’t wait any longer than Spike.

“Room. Bed. Now,” she ordered breathily.

It was a request Spike was more than willing to comply with.

Strange how simple tasks like turning a doorknob became well nigh impossible when he had Buffy in his arms, squirming, and kissing him all over. He let out a little groan of frustration, and she sensed his dilemma, fumbling with the handle herself. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who found this task exceedingly difficult.

The knob finally turned and… “Bugger!” he swore loudly when he collided with the invisible barrier, just as impenetrable as any door, keeping him from her home.

“Mmm! Right!” she winced in memory of why exactly he wasn’t invited into her home in the first place. “Come in.”

Of course, he was caught unprepared by the instantly dissolving barrier and they burst into the house in sudden victory, the door banging open loudly.

Buffy winced at the loud sound. “Quiet,” she murmured against his chest.

He gulped and nodded. “Right. Quiet.”

Of course, then she had to undermine that whole bloody resolve by pushing his duster off his shoulders and yanking his tee-shirt up and over his head in one triumphant tug. Those soft lips of hers now pressed against bare, sensitive skin.

As he collapsed back against the door with another (albeit quieter) bang, she found one nipple and kissed it gently. He moaned.

She scowled up at him. “Is there some part of ‘quiet’ you’re having difficulty understanding?” she teased him, eyes wide and innocent.

His own eyes narrowed and darkened, and a low growl rumbled through his chest. “’ll show you how difficult…” he threatened.

She gulped and took a step back. The look in his eyes at that moment was pure sexual predator. Dark and dangerous and… God, she wanted him now…

She let out a little yelp when he pounced, forcing her back against the railing. Her own blouse was disposed of in a manner much rougher than his tee-shirt had been, and she felt obliged to complain until his mouth found the flesh of her breast above the line of her bra and sucked slowly.

“Oh god!” She clung to his hair and whimpered in anticipation when she felt his fingers fumble at the clasp and then finally release it.

“Quiet, pet,” he teased, smirking up at her. “Remember?”

She mock-scowled and swatted playfully at his hair.

“Feisty li’l vixen,” he purred, tongue curled up wickedly beneath his teeth.

“Feisty little _Slayer_ ,” she reminded him, “so all vampires better hurry up, or else.”

“All you ever had to do was ask, luv,” he informed her in a breathy whisper. Then, before she could respond, he caught her up in his arms with a little yelp, leapt over the banister railing and raced upstairs.

She squealed and clung to his neck and realized that, oops, she was kind of _really_ sucking at being quiet. Oh well.

He came to a halt in her bedroom and closed the door behind them without ceremony. “That more to your liking?”

“Points for being quick,” she nodded with a small smile. “But quick isn’t always good…”

Her whisper sounded all prim and proper, but the effect was rather spoiled by one of her hands sliding from his neck and over his chest. Not that Spike was complaining. Far from it, especially when she started flicking his nipple back and forth with her thumb.

The bed was right there, only a couple of feet away, and yet he still wasn’t moving. Just having her in his arms like this, having her touch him was already more than only the previous night he would have believed would ever happen. How far they had gone in a few hours… and how far they were still about to go… Something halfway between a growl and a hum rose from his throat at the thought, and Buffy laughed softly.

“Are you purring?” she asked, looking up at him with a grin. “That’s kind of cu…”

She let out a surprised yelp as, without warning, he moved to the bed and let her fall on it.

“I’m not cute,” he informed her as he caught her feet and proceeded to take off her shoes and socks. “I’m a big bad vampire whose only thought is to devour you.”

The wicked glint in his eyes might have worried Buffy when he attacked her jeans’ fastenings, but the gentleness with which he tugged her pants and underwear off, the soft slide of his fingers on her skin were anything but scary.

It was only after he had stood in front of her, immobile and watching her for a few seconds that Buffy belatedly realized she was completely naked under his gaze. Shreds of modesty set her cheeks on fire and she instinctively brought her hands up to cover herself, but Spike stopped her with a small shake of his head.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “You’re too bloody gorgeous to hide…”

Unable to stand not touching her anymore, Spike lay on the bed next to her, and pressed his lips to hers. When she tried to deepen the kiss however, he allowed his mouth to glide down her throat, nibbling, sucking and kissing along the way. So many treasures to discover, he thought to himself. And already Buffy was shifting under his touch, trying to accentuate the pressure of his mouth and guide him. If that was what she wanted, he would be happy to oblige…

“Where do you want my lips?” he murmured, his words a caress along her collarbone.

She shivered, and involuntarily tightened her hands on his shoulders.

“I… I don’t know,” she stuttered. “I’m sure it’s not my… my first time…” Her voice lowered with each word until she finished on a whisper. “But at the same time, it kinda is, you know?”

He wore an odd smile when he looked up at her.

“I know. And by the same standards, it’d be my first time too.”

“Virgin!Spike?” Buffy whispered softly, intrigued by the idea, her fingers idly tracing his cheek.

He gasped at the gentleness of her touch and rubbed his cheek against her palm. “Might remember a thing or two if properly _stimulated_.” He leered up at her at this last word, letting her know exactly what he meant.

She giggled. She never would’ve imagined she'd feel this way with a naked Spike on top of her, but she felt almost…relaxed. Comfortable. And, yeah, more than a bit twitchy for something more. “Maybe if you experimented a bit, it would come back to you,” she suggested coyly, her fingertips trailing down and over the muscles of one taut forearm.

“Refresh my memory?” He lowered himself so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth over hers.

“Y-Yup.” Her voice was shaking at his nearness now. Her hand moved up to touch him again, but he caught her wrist – and her other one as well – and pressed them firmly into the pillow above her head.

“Naughty girl,” he tisked her lightly. “Tryin’ to distract me…”

She practically whimpered when he pulled back and away from her lips, but soon enough he’d moved down her body. His lips weren’t cold exactly, but they were still cool. Against her fevered flesh, they felt like ice, but sort of like the ice in that Icy Hot stuff where it froze at first, but the cold turned into an intense burn in no time.

The line of her collarbone seemed to explode with sensation as his lips, and then his tongue, trailed along the edges of her body. Her fingers itched to tangle in his hair and push him lower, but her wrists felt as though they were lead, trapped on the pillow. His sensual promises did more to restrain her than shackles ever could.

Thankfully, he sensed the tension in her and moved lower just when the whimpers in her throat were on the verge of transforming into screams of frustration. Remembering that promise to keep things quiet, no doubt.

She scowled down at him. “I think you remember _everything_ ,” she accused good-naturedly.

He grinned rakishly up at her and enclosed her right breast with his mouth, his tongue caressing the swollen flesh.

As seconds of toes-curling torment turned into centuries, Buffy became more and more convinced that Spike _did_ know what he was doing – and therefore, remembered. There was no way otherwise to explain how he could play her body so expertly, pulling out soft moans from her as though she were his instrument and he was playing scales.

His tongue twirled. His teeth grazed. His lips caressed. His mouth sucked. And his fingers… Oh God, his fingers… At first they had been running up and down her legs, sending shivers down her spine. But then Spike had slid a hand to the inside of her thighs and stroked there, always higher, and made her arch into his touch until finally – _finally_ – he had run his index along her folds and she had frozen.

Between his mouth on her breast, his fingers now pumping in and out of her, and his thumb pressing rhythmically against her clit, Buffy felt like her body was about to implode and, eyes tightly shut despite herself, she waited for the explosion…

And then Spike stopped.

This time, her moan was one of frustration, there was no doubt about it, and Spike couldn’t help grinning when her eyes opened and shot daggers at him.

“What are you…” she began, but he stopped her quite effectively by licking her slit in one long, slow stroke.

“Want to taste you,” he explained, voice rendered rough by his own desire, and returned to his task. Another swipe of his tongue along her folds left him wondering if even sampling her blood could have been any better. The thought awakened something primal in him and he bent to his task with renewed ardor.

His long strokes gave way to shorter, more pointed ones aimed directly at her tight channel, and she started shaking against him. Tentatively, he flicked her clit with his tongue and watched her body arch. He did it again, and again, sucked at her clit, then alternated, all the while sliding his fingers in and out of her, never taking his eyes of her until pleasure finally overtook her. A quiet, wordless wail escaped her lips and her body went rigid for an instant; he could feel her internal muscles clenching around his fingers, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her and remain there forever.

Seeing her like this, completely taken by the passion he had created, had Spike set a new goal for himself. He was going to make Buffy feel as good as she possibly could. And then he would do it all over again.

As her body slowly slackened, Buffy grinned stupidly at the ceiling above her. _Tongue good_ seemed to be the only two words her mind was able to produce. That, and…

“Spike!”

Her body convulsed as he lapped at her too sensitive folds. She managed to raise her head enough to see his impish grin.

“Come ‘p here,” she begged, wanting to touch him, all of him.

When he didn’t immediately comply with her request, she started protesting, but then she realized that the delay was caused by his struggle to take his too tight jeans off. And all she could think of when he finally climbed on the bed was _yum_.

“You wanted something, luv?” he teased lightly, crawling up the mattress to her seductively, confident of his body and the power he had over her.

She smiled and kissed him when he was finally close enough, tasted the rough masculine flavor of his lips and musk of her sex on his tongue. She decided then and there that she could get very used to tasting the two of them together.

“Looks like that jogged your memory,” she commented lazily, her fingers trailing down his chest, exploring the expanse of bare muscle intently. “Do you think I’d remember just as quickly?”

“’m sure you’re— Fuck!” He cried out in sudden pleasure when one of her trailing hands found his erection and she wrapped her fingers around the base.

“Shh,” she reminded him, loosening her grip to trail her fingers up and down his length, learning the feel of him. God, he was so beautiful, and knowing that her touch could drive him over the edge so easily…

He hissed, biting back his cries as her hot little hand surrounded him, burning him up. Her free hand twined in his hair, pulling him closer to her. Slowly, naturally, his hands found her body again, caressing a breast here, a thigh there. She moaned, and the pulls on his erection became harder and more persistent. If she kept that up, he was going to explode before the real fun had even started.

With a shaky laugh, he caught her hand in his, guiding it to his hip instead as he rolled them over so that she was beneath him.

“I remembered a bit too well, too?” she teased lightly.

“Mmm…perfectly,” he murmured against her lips.

They kissed shortly, sweetly, before Buffy’s hands came up to cradle his face, holding him before her so that she could look at him. Memorize this moment, how _right_ it felt to her, how perfect…

His expression sobered when he realized what she was doing. “Buffy—”

“Shh,” she cut him off.

“If you’re going to regret—”

Her fingertip covered his lips, silencing him. “I’m not going to regret anything. I love you.”

He sighed. He didn’t want to argue in the first place, really. “I love you, too,” he began.

“Then make love to me,” she requested softly. “Just…” A little whimper escaped her lips when his cock brushed her inner thigh. “Please…”

The word sent a jolt through Spike’s body and he couldn’t delay any longer. Trembling as he tried not to simply ram into her, he brought his cock to nudge Buffy’s wet folds. Her legs easily slid around his backside and she pushed him forward even as he started moving, ever so slowly entering her, savoring the delightful sensation of her tightness around him. His eyes never left hers, attentive to any hint of pain; all he could see was pleasure taking over her features.

When he was finally sheathed in her, they both let out quiet sighs.

“It’s like you were…” he started.

“Made for me,” she finished.

They shared a smile, a kiss, and together, without needing to speak, as though their bodies remembered something that had never happened, they started dancing. Their hips moved in perfect counterpoint, Buffy’s pulling back as Spike’s cock slid almost all the way out, then rising up as he trust back in again. They kept a slow pace for a few seconds, getting accustomed to the feel of each other.

Then Buffy’s hands cupped Spike’s face again and pulled him down for another kiss. The touch of her tongue against his made him involuntarily jerk forward; Buffy moaned into his mouth. He did it again. And again.

His thrusting was now faster, stronger, and he reveled in the quiet cries he pulled from Buffy’s mouth. He’d never get tired of this, of her hands now clutching at his shoulders, her cunt squeezing him as though she didn’t want to let him go, the feel of her body against his.

With a gasp, he pulled back from her mouth as the first tightening that preceded release tensed through his body. He bit his lower lip to keep from crying aloud – still mindful of their rule to keep this quiet – and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

Below him, Buffy began to make little mewling noises as she rocked her hips up against him with ever-increasing franticness. She felt filled, completed, like he was conquering her from the inside out, or maybe she was the one consuming him.

Or maybe it didn’t matter because they were both one being in that moment, and he looked so beautiful, so perfect, above her with his eyes squeezed shut tight in pleasure and that muscle in his jaw ticking with each thrust. A deep, white heat flooded through her belly, shooting streaks of ecstasy, and she reached up for him, pulled his face to her, so that he had to open his eyes, had to show her that overwhelming emotion within, had to…

The sound was almost more intense than the beauty of her writhing beneath him. Not wild screams of passion, but the deep, erratic gasping of breath. He realized that his own lungs were unnecessarily dragging in the air, clinging to some primal instinct of life and desire.

But then she pulled him down to her, and he couldn’t help but look into her desire-darkened eyes. Her lips opened as if to speak, but then she cried out instead, softly. He felt her body tighten around him, holding him close, trapping him deep inside. Muscles tensing in little cascades down the entire length of him until he felt the pleasure within him explode.

It was all he could do to capture her lips with his roughly as he came, drowning out his orgasmic cry – and hers – with the taste of her tongue.


	18. Chapter 18

“Spike! Yes!”

 _Thump._

“God! Luv…”

 _Thump._

 _Crack._

 _Silence._

“That sounded…weird.”

Tara’s quiet words startled Willow; she had been trying very hard not to listen, but the walls were too thin – and Buffy and Spike, too loud – to ignore what was going on in the next room.

“I mean,” Tara continued, sounding every bit as much flustered as Willow felt, “that cracking noise? It sounded as…as though they broke something.”

“The bed, probably. Thanks heaven. Maybe they’ll be quiet now.”

Willow’s eyes widened as she heard her own words, and her cheeks reddened in embarrassment until she heard Tara’s quiet chuckle.

“It would just be nice if they stopped for a while,” she added quickly, “I could use some sleep.”

She shifted a little, trying to find a better position, and becoming again all too aware that it wasn’t sleep her body was crying out for at that instant.

“Sleep… would be good,” Tara acquiesced, although she didn’t really sound convinced.

Trying not to think about what she was doing, Willow turned to her side, facing Tara. The room was dark, but there was enough light coming from behind the not completely drawn curtains for Willow to see the features of her companion. To see that her eyes were wide open and that she was looking toward her, too. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“I-It is kinda…sweet, though,” Willow commented, blushing slightly. “I mean, romantic. Their first night together, and…” She looked down. “I can’t remember, but it must be…”

“Exciting?” Tara suggested softly.

Willow offered her a shy smile. “Yeah.” One hand reached out hesitantly to brush a honey-brown lock back from Tara’s face. Her smile turned a shade more mischievous when Tara leaned into her touch. “And I’m kinda thinking the excitement is catching.”

“Oh?” Tara made the question sound innocent, but her lips were quirked in an answering smile to Willow’s own.

Willow watched Tara bite her lower lip coyly and leaned in. “Maybe Buffy and Spike aren’t the only ones who got a second chance to start over…”

“Mmm,” Tara murmured in agreement. And then, much to Willow’s surprise, took the lead and pressed a soft kiss to Willow’s lips.

Willow could feel the smile in her kiss and smiled back as it deepened, turned more intense as they relearned the taste of the other’s mouth.

“And, hey,” Willow joked lightly as they pulled apart for their first breath of air, “we’ve already got the noise issue covered.” Another bang sounded from Buffy’s room to verify her statement.

“Good point,” Tara agreed. And kissed her again…

* * *

“Mmm,” Buffy mumbled lazily against the alabaster planes of Spike’s chest. The muscles beneath her chest rumbled in a low purr of agreement to her sentiment.

It wasn’t the first time Spike had purred for her, and she was definitely getting used to it. The content noise by itself sent small shivers down her spine and made her toes curl. Not that they needed curling anymore, not after that last time – and the one before that, and… She grinned to herself as the memories flooded her mind and body with a fresh wave of blinding heat. Spike’s purr under her shifted into a quiet chuckle.

“You trying to kill me, luv?” he asked, his voice as smooth as warm honey. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think vamps can die from too much shagging.”

Her hand batted at his chest without any conviction. “’Morning to you too,” she yawned sleepily. “And what are you talking about?”

His left hand, which had been nestled at the small of her back, slid down to cup her ass lovingly.

“’M talking about that luscious body of yours sending out a call to…”

Raising her head from his chest with some regret, she silenced him with a peck of her lips on his.

“No calling,” she assured him. “Or else _you’ll_ kill _me_.”

He gave her a lopsided, teasing smile. “I’m sure there are worse ways to die.”

“Probably,” she conceded, returning to her comfy spot on his chest. “But then we wouldn’t get to do this again tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after that. And…”

He chuckled again, and as a mirror image of what had happened earlier, the laugh turned into a soft purring.

“Mmm,” he agreed. “So I shouldn’t count on gettin’ any sleep for the rest of the week?”

“Sleep is for the weak,” she informed him lightly, leaning in closer to brush her lips against one of the faint white scar-lines on his chest.

The purr turned practically into a growl. Possessive and wild and passionate. His lips, however, whimpered. “Not sure I can…” he offered apologetically. Apparently super-human stamina could last eight hours and no more.

“I know. Me, either. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other fun things to do in bed with a pretty vampire.” She stuck her lower lip out in that adorable manner, and for a moment he was too mesmerized by that thick, juicy lip to hear her words, and then:

“Pretty?” he exclaimed in horror.

She giggled and wrapped her arms tight around his waist, hugging him close to her like a Spike-sized pillow. “Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re indignant?”

“‘Cute’? Oh, now that is it, Slayer,” he growled good-naturedly. His threat didn’t amount to much more than kissing her breathless, however.

She sighed and rolled fully onto her back after he pulled away. “Every morning should be like this one,” she decided with a sleepy, happy grin on her face.

“No regrets then, pet?” he ventured hesitantly. He hated to bring up their past and the whole memory catastrophe on what was, yeah, quite possibly the most perfect morning ever. Well, it _would’ve_ been had he been able to have a cigarette or two, but hell like he was risking his girl’s lungs. And pretty perfect was close enough…

“I love you,” she whispered softly, turning just her head on the pillow so that she could look at him. “How could there ever be any regrets after that?”

He shrugged. “Just making sure things didn’t get…complicated after last night.”

“Nah.” She brushed off his worries and kissed him again.

“And I love you, too,” he countered with a grin.

* * *

The door wasn’t offering much privacy – not any more than the walls had – and Dawn couldn’t help grinning when, hand poised to knock, she heard the shared ‘I love you’s inside her sister’s room. She was quite proud of her handiwork, and as well she should have been, getting these two together, the way they so obviously ought to be, hadn’t been exactly easy. Although it would probably cost her years of therapy after the traumatizing night she had spent, awoken every time she managed to doze off by yet more moans and assorted noises.

Moans and assorted noises that seemed to be starting yet again. She definitely had to do something. Without waiting anymore, she knocked. Hard.

“Don’t come in!” came Buffy’s shrill voice. “I mean, wait a…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she cut in, “there’s no way I’m going in there. The noise was traumatizing enough; I don’t need the visual, too.”

Although Spike in his birthday suit had to be something quite interesting. Maybe a little peek…

She was brought back to the reality by his laughter, and Buffy’s shushing noises. “She’s going to hear you!”

“She _already_ heard you!” Dawn said, exasperated. “How about you get off each other for a little while and come downstairs? I’m making breakfast.”

Without waiting for a reply – she would bang on the door again if needed – she walked to the end of the hall to Willow and Tara’s room, intending to invite them, too. She stopped, as before, with her fist inches from the door…

And heard a pleasure-filled whimper.

“Not them, too!” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

“What? Did, like, a horny demon attack last night?” And then she couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that there was a horny demon, just in the next room. Even if she was traumatized. And mortified. With a sigh, she knocked on Willow and Tara’s door, too. “Breakfast for all who can manage to get out of bed!” she shouted through the door before clomping back down the stairs.

She couldn’t keep the grin off her face, though. Because, seriously, how awesome was this? Buffy and Spike in love, and Willow and Tara, too. Even Rupert and Anya seemed to have found happiness, although (thankfully) she hadn’t had to hear the evidence of _that_ relationship last night.

Yup, life was good.

Well, except for that stupid memory spell that Rupert was going to break in three days.

And the fact that, hey, pancakes weren’t supposed to be gray, were they? She frowned down at the stove in disbelief…

“Gray?” Spike cocked an eyebrow as he peered over her shoulder at the stove.

“Oops?” she offered with a sheepish grin. She tossed the mud-colored dish aside.

“I can do i—” Buffy began to offer.

“No!” Dawn shrieked in mock-horror. “Don’t let her near the stove again.” She clung teasingly to Spike’s arm. Which was nicely muscled. Too bad he’d thrown on a tee-shirt before he came downstairs. Dawn could forgive him the jeans, though. Maybe she wasn't ready for that much Spike after all.

Buffy humphed and came up behind Spike, brushing a hand gently against his waist as she passed him. “How about waffles?” she offered, poking her head into the freezer. “Nice, toaster waffles. I shouldn’t be able to set those on fire…” She sounded doubtful, though.

Dawn grinned as she watched Spike move to slip by her sister on his way to the toaster. The way the two of them were moving, it was almost like they were caught in the same orbit and couldn’t help but pull constantly closer to each other.

She sighed happily as she watched them, wondering at her own satisfaction at seeing the people around her so affectionate for each other. It seemed to be a deep-seated need within her to see people happy and in love, and she wondered whether the experience had really been that scarce in her life that she should savor it now.

In any case, things didn’t get much better than this…

* * *

“Hmm,” Anya sighed. “Doesn’t get much better than that…”

Tangled with her amidst his sheets, body still thrumming from the pleasure they’d shared the night before, Rupert couldn’t help but agree.

“A very delightful night,” he said, his voice still a bit rough. “One of many, many to come.” He grinned at her as he said so, but the wicked smile he expected in return did not come, and instead the satisfaction on her features faded slightly. “Anya?” he questioned softly. “Something wrong, love?”

“No, of course not,” she replied in a very unconvincing manner.

“Anya,” he insisted. “Tell me.”

She sighed and curled a little closer to him, cheek pressed to his chest, thumb idly flicking one of his nipples. She had taken quite a liking to this portion of his anatomy upon discovering it was so sensitive.

“I think I might be a little…nervous…about the spell,” she admitted finally. “I mean, we weren’t together before, and… What if…?”

“No.”

His interruption was quiet but forceful, and Anya fell silent.

“No what if’s, no nervousness,” he admonished her. “Even if it was different before, we’ll still remember this. We’ll remember what it’s like to be together. And I, for one, have no doubts that having you in my life is a definite improvement.”

She let out a small chuckle. “Of course. I certainly make getting orgasms a little easier.”

Cupping her face, he gently tilted it until he could see her. “That’s not what I meant,” he said slowly. “You bring much more than sex to my life.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I do? Like what?”

“Well…” he considered for a moment.

She pouted. “See? It’s all about the orgasms. It’s always about the orgasms. If I—”

“Anya!” he cut her off, mildly exasperated.

She blinked up at him, suspicious that she should be annoyed that he had interrupted her.

“I was merely trying to gather my thoughts on the matter. I have quite a lot of them,” he explained.

“Then say them,” she insisted matter-of-factly. “This isn’t one of those boring old books. Freeform compliments are allowed. And appreciated!” she added with a bright smile.

He grinned at that. “Well, first off, I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m much less impulsive when you’re not around.”

“Suspicion?” she teased lightly.

“And you have the ability to drive me to heights of passion – in both directions – that I can only presume is rare in a woman.”

“You seemed pretty _passionate_ to me last night,” she said almost coyly, leaning in closer to him and licking and nibbling her way up his chest. Amazing how only a few compliments could reassure a girl.

“And you’re…oh yes, right there!…quite a challenge,” he added. “Stimulating physically to be sure. But also intellectually, verbally, emotionally…”

“Rupert?” she cut in.

“Mmm?”

Her expression turned serious, a little frown furrowing her brow. “If you think all of this about me, then why weren’t we together before?”

He considered that for a moment. “I can only suppose that circumstances – such as your engagement to Xander – kept me from considering the option.” He let out a little moan when her body shifted against his arousal. “Kept both of us from considering it,” he added pointedly.

She nodded at that. “So what’s to say that once those circumstances are back, one of us won’t decide to pull away again?”  
   
“Only ourselves,” he argued, tilting her head up for a slow kiss. He broke away for a moment to whisper against her lips. “I can assure you, I have no such intention.” He kissed her again, and this time he could feel her giving in, molding her body against his, eager to explore the spark between them further.

She pulled away after a minute, though. “We’re supposed to open the shop in fifteen minutes,” she reminded him, disappointed.

“Bugger it,” he insisted, eyes dark with wild passion as he crawled over the bed toward her.

“B-But Rupert,” she protested half-heartedly. “The money…”

“Forget the money.” He was upon her again now, hands caressing, lips soothing…  
   
And Anya thought that maybe he could make her forget about the money, after all. She turned into his kisses and decided that the store could wait for a few more hours.

Provided they made up for the profit losses by extending their hours further during the peak season, of course.

* * *

As he made his way across the living room and to the door, Xander realized that he would need to do some cleaning before they all got their memories back. It probably wouldn’t make such a good impression on Anya if upon her return clothes and pizza boxes were still littering the floor. Things were going to be awkward, he supposed; he didn’t need to add to it when a little cleaning could take care of the mess he had made. In truth, he had slipped into the bachelor’s part quite easily; so easily in fact that it was hard to imagine he used to be living with someone – practically married, actually. The change promised to be…interesting.

The drive to the construction site took no more than a few minutes, with Xander singing along to old tunes on the radio. It was odd how he could remember the lyrics for almost every song he heard; odd, also, how easy construction work was to him. He often found himself knowing what he was supposed to do, and he had stopped questioning the knowledge, though he continued to be grateful for it. It might have been difficult to explain to his colleagues or supervisor why he had suddenly forgotten how to do his job.

He was still whistling as he stepped onto the site, replying in kind to the greetings that came his way.

“Hey, Harris. You look like you’re in a good mood.”

“Hi, Johnson. What’s up?”

He smiled. He was indeed feeling pretty good, though he couldn’t have explained why.

“Not worrying about your wedding anymore, then? What did your girl do to warm your cold feet?”

A few laughs sounded around him, and someone clapped him on the shoulder. Xander struggled to keep the smile on his face. It wasn’t the first time the guys referred to Anya, not the first time they hinted that Xander had not been so excited about his upcoming wedding. And each time they did, he wanted to ask them – what did they know that he didn’t remember? Had he really been talking to them about something this personal? Although he seemed to be good friends with a few of them, so…

It was hard to know what to think. Anya seemed like a fine woman, from what he could see, so why would he have been anxious to marry her? Of course, she had been spending much more time with Rupert than with him, so he didn’t really know her that well. Not anymore, at least. But soon, he would, again.

Soon, they would all remember.


	19. Chapter 19

With more than a little help from Tara and Willow, who were as skilled in the kitchen as Buffy, Dawn and Spike were not, a large breakfast was soon prepared and served. There had only been one very close pancake-burning incident as the two lovebirds blushed and grinned goofily to each other, but Spike’s nose and a pointed cough saved the pancakes just in time.

The kitchen island was deemed impractical for five guests, and while Willow and Tara finished their preparations, Dawn set the table in the dining room, rolling her eyes and grumbling under her breath the whole time as Buffy and her boyfriend pretended to help but did little more than whisper to each other, snuggle when they thought she wasn’t looking, and kissed so repeatedly that Dawn mentally added half a dozen therapy sessions to the trauma of the night.

It was close to lunchtime when they finally sat down at the table and dug in. There were piles of pancakes, plain or with chocolate chips as Tara had decided to experiment, syrup, honey and whipped cream to cover or fill them, omelets, hash browns, milk, juice, cereals… practically every edible item in the kitchen was now on the table and waiting to be eaten. Buffy had the fleeting thought that they would need to go grocery shopping, but forgot about it as she watched Spike pour heated blood over a bowl of cereal. It should have grossed her out, she was sure of it, yet she found it rather… endearing.

Dawn, on the other hand, was quick to scrunch up her nose and loudly express her distaste.

“Eww! I’ll never eat cereal again!”

Tara and Willow, who had been engrossed in each other, looked around to see what was going on.

“What?” Spike asked innocently. “’M just giving the blood some texture.”  
   
“Undead, bloodsucking freak,” she mumbled under her breath.

He merely grinned at her while gleefully – and pointedly – eating a nice, heaping spoonful of Cheerios and blood.

Dawn stuck out her tongue, Willow and Tara laughed, and Buffy’s hand brushed the back of Spike’s head in a caress as she sat down beside him.

Intentionally looking anywhere but at Spike’s bowl, Dawn munched away at her pancakes. This was nice. Everyone seemed happy and in love. It was perfect. Almost, too perfect.

The realization came to her slowly as she watched the adults around her. Watched Willow and Tara’s touches – not just as affection – but as a worried glance on Willow’s part, always followed by a sympathetic one on Tara’s. Or how Buffy’s fingers always lingered on Spike just a second longer, a brief flash of fear in her eyes as if she was afraid it would be the last time. Or even how Spike jumped up a bit too hastily to get Buffy the orange juice or to take away the dishes, trying to prove himself the perfect boyfriend in the time he had left.

This was happiness, but they all knew the clock was ticking away on paradise now.

* * *

   
“Is everything all right?” Rupert asked, concerned, when he saw the slight frown mar Anya’s brow.

Instantly, her expression turned to a dazzling smile. But it was a bit _too_ bright, as if something still weighed on her mind. “What makes you think something’s wrong?” she insisted, her voice overly perky.  
   
“Well, it could be that you’re frowning,” he said as he came to stand behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, massaging lightly. “It could be that you haven’t mentioned hurrying to open the shop before we lost any customers. Or there’s also the clue that you’re extremely tense when our…activities should have left you relaxed. Was it not…?”

“It was perfect,” she interrupted quickly and turned around to face him. “Very, very satisfying orgasms. All five of them.”

As she tucked her head under his chin, Giles held her close and smiled to himself. He was getting used to her bluntness about sex, and actually being reminded of his performance proved to be a nice boost to his ego. And to other parts of him.

He didn’t let that distract him, though. Something was troubling her, and he needed to know what it was.

“If everything is so perfect, why do I have the feeling you’re not as happy as you pretend to be?” he insisted, caressing her back lightly.

“Because that’s exactly the problem,” she sighed, and pulling away from him she started pacing through the living room. “It was _too_ perfect. You’re afraid too, aren’t you?”

He frowned under her accusatory glare. “Afraid? What do I have to be afraid of?”

“That it’s going to end!” she blurted out. “The ingredients are going to arrive, and you’re going to do that spell, and then poof! It will be all over! We’ll forget how amazing we are together, and I’ll go back to Xander, and you’ll go away to England, and it will be all over and…”

Striding to her, Giles took Anya’s face in his hands and stopped her ramblings the best way he knew – with a kiss that left her breathless.

“We are not going to forget anything,” he assured her when he broke the kiss, keeping eye contact with her. His voice was so intense it trembled. “We’re going to remember the rest of our lives, but we won’t forget this. We won’t forget any of this. I will _not_ forget how bloody much I love you, and there’s no way I’d let you go back to him without fighting like hell first.”

Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Promise?” she murmured.  
   
“I admire those who always speak their minds.” His hand came up to caress her cheek. “And thus I always attempt to emulate them.”

Anya smiled brightly. “I think that’s the sweetest promise I’ve ever heard.” Then, she frowned. “Which, of course, doesn’t mean much because I don’t really remember anything more than a week ago, and when you get right down to it, exactly how many promises _have_ I heard in a week?” She looked up at him to see that he was chuckling at her usual candor. “But that doesn’t detract from the sincerity of my compliment in the slightest,” she finished confidently.

”I would never imagine it did,” he replied and kissed her again.

Kissed her like it was the first and the last time.

Kissed her like the world was tilting around them, but only the two of them remained constant.  
   


* * *

  
In the background, Professor Morris was outlining the requirements for their term papers. It was a somewhat frightening prospect, really, writing a paper in a class you could only remember the last week of. However, if the looks on the other students’ faces were any indication, they weren’t the only ones who felt like this monster of a project had just leapt on them from its hiding place in a dark alley.

And, Tara reflected, her analogies were definitely starting to suffer from her blonde housemate’s rather odd profession.

She turned her attention back to Willow, smiling as she watched her new – and old – lover scramble to write down every word the teacher said. Willow had a grit and determination about all things academic that Tara couldn’t help but find incredibly attractive. Looks _and_ brains.

Her brow furrowed for a moment as she reflected on the advisory letter she and Willow had found in their room. Apparently, Willow had been cutting classes before the memory spell. It seemed unnatural, really, that anything could come between Willow and what she so obviously loved. Unnatural and disturbing.

Tara worried her lip as she considered the potential outcomes of Willow’s memories returning and the issues they’d have to face together all over again. She felt frighteningly uninformed about the subject. It seemed she had a bit of Willow’s research drive, as well. And the only cure for this research dilemma lay in an old bound book last seen on Rupert’s desk.  
   
“We’ll have to do some research.”

Willow’s determined words, as they walked out of the classroom, echoed her thoughts so perfectly that for a second Tara was startled, and wondered whether her girlfriend _– hmmm…girlfriend…what a lovely word…_ – h ad some mind reading abilities she didn’t know about. But then Willow continued:

“That paper is going to be a pain to write, seeing how we don’t remember a thing about the class. You think we should ask someone’s notes? Or spend a few hours at the library?”

“Let’s see what notes we have first,” Tara suggested. “Maybe by combining that with the book…” She shrugged and gave Willow a little smile. “It’s such a nice day. We could go to the park or for a walk rather than staying in.”

Willow smiled back, her small worried frown disappearing. “Sounds great. And anyway, once we’ll get our memories back, writing that paper will be easier.”

Tara nodded at that, although she had a few doubts. And seeing how the enthusiasm filling Willow’s words sounded a bit forced, she suspected her girlfriend had reservations too.  
   


* * *

   
With something that could have been incredulity or annoyance, Buffy watched a strange scene take place in the basement: a vampire was doing her laundry. She would have infinitely preferred said vampire to be cuddling her, or kissing her, or both, or anything rather than inspecting every tag on the garments in the basket. Dawn, Willow and Tara wouldn’t be gone all day, and it would be nice to take advantage of the empty house while they could.

But no, Spike had decided that doing laundry was more important than doing, well, _her_. His sense of priorities definitely needed some work.  
   
“Spike,” she sing-songed, coming up behind him and slowly walking her fingers down his bare arm.

“Oh, hey, pet.” He looked up as though he hadn’t been aware she was there. He took her in his arms for one brief, glorious second, pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss that seemed to stop time…and turned back to doing the laundry. “You think this is enough fabric softener?” He held up a cup with about four times what any sane human being would use.

She took the cup from him, dumped most of it back into the bottle, and poured the rest in the machine.

His eyes widened. “I still haven’t checked some of the labels of—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Spike, it’s just fabric softener. The world isn’t ending.”

He nodded and turned on the machine.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she wrapped her arms around his neck for another breath-taking kiss. However, all too soon, he was breaking away again.

“Gotta finish the dishes from breakfast,” he said apologetically.

She pouted. “Can’t it wait?”

He frowned, considering for a second. “Well, I would but then ‘d be behind schedule. Need to get the living room tidied and then help l’il sis with her math when she gets back from school, so I can get dinner started on time, and—”

“Spike?” she cut him off with a falsely sweet smile.

“Yeah?”

“We'll order pizza." And, with that, she tackled him back onto the washing machine.

And really, she reflected, maybe it wasn’t so bad her boyfriend had suddenly gotten himself on a scary, weird domestic track. After all, the vibrations of the washer beneath her were quite enjoyable when accompanied by Spike’s thrusts and moans…  
   


* * *

   
“Hey, I cast the spell to re-ensoul him. Aw yeah, who da man?” Willow bounced in her seat proudly.

“You are,” Xander agreed. “Just, please, for the love of god, no more attempts at ghetto-speak.”

Willow stuck her tongue out at him good-naturedly.

Beside her, Tara smiled. She’d known it would be a good idea to read more about their pasts. Just hearing about their old adventures together had made Willow and Xander a lot more comfortable with each other, especially after the brief debacle when they’d thought they were dating.

Rupert merely shook his head at them all as he continued to skim the book before him. In some ways, they were all such children. And his notes in his diary said much the same at many frustrated intervals. It was so nice to know that some of his basic opinions hadn’t changed.

“That’s all well and good,” Anya was pouting, “but when do we get to hear about _me_? Not that I don’t appreciate the three orgasms in the store room this afternoon, Rupert, but you’ve left me alone at this cash register for two hours.”

Xander coughed pointedly, looking anywhere but at his ex-fiancée and her latest boyfriend. Willow and Tara merely blushed and pretended they hadn’t heard anything.

“As I’ve told you numerous times,” Rupert explained patiently, “skipping ahead to 1998 would completely defeat the purpose of reading the journals chronologically.” He paused for a moment. “Although I _could_ leave Tara to narrate for a while and aid you in the, er… _inventory_ downstairs.”

Anya instantly perked up. “Yes, I need your help,” she said, pretending to sound serious and doing a thoroughly horrible job. “With that difficult inventory.”

Rupert dropped the book in Tara’s lap, and the two of them practically dashed for the basement.  
   
Dawn walked into the store just in time to see them go. “Oh god. We’re not going to have to hear them _again_?”

Xander shuddered in agreement before waving to Buffy and Spike who had come in behind Dawn, Spike under what appeared to be a smoking blanket. “The joys of being undead, hey?”

Spike snorted. “Such a barrel of laughs,” he agreed ruefully, before taking Buffy’s coat.

She sighed and headed for the research table. “The joys of dating the undead, too,” she teased lightly.

Willow, Tara, and Xander all exchanged nervous looks. After all, they currently knew more about the difficulties Buffy had faced in that area than she herself did.

Buffy didn’t catch their looks, however, because Spike dove to rescue to pull her chair out for her. She rolled her eyes once more at Overly!Attentive!Boyfriend!Vamp. Although it _was_ nice when he sat down right next to her and began giving her a little shoulder message.

“So,” she asked curiously, “what have you guys found out?”  
   
As he, Buffy and Dawn listened to the Cliff notes version of what the others had learned from reading his fath… _Rupert_ ’s journal from the beginning, Spike realized two things.

For one thing, he was quite sure that with his memories intact, he hated this Angel guy. Every time that poncy name was uttered, he felt something stir angrily in him, the same something that hummed whenever he drank blood or when Buffy was in his arms, surrounding him, so tight and burning and…

“Spike? Is something wrong?”

Buffy’s words as she turned to look at him pulled him from his daydream; lost in very, _very_ nice memories, he had stopped the impromptu massage he had been giving her. With a small apologetic smile, he resumed his ministrations, and again divided his attention between Tara, who had picked up the reading where they had stopped, and his internal ramblings.

So. The part of him that was demon didn’t like Angel. Good thing he wasn’t around.

The other thing that was clear was that Angel was an idiot. A complete, ‘too stupid to see a good thing when it fell on his lap’ idiot. He had lost his soul and because of that he had stopped loving Buffy? What kind of excuse was that? If he had really loved her, it wouldn’t have made a difference. The simple proof of that, as far as Spike was concerned, was that his own lack of soul didn’t stop him from loving her, or from wanting to do everything in his power to keep her love. If she could see how much she meant to him now, maybe she wouldn’t forget it once they got their memories back.

Tara pronouncing his name brought his full attention back on the reading.

 _“I came back from a retreat in Breaker’s Woods to hear how Spike paid the town a visit in my absence. It appears that his paramour, Drusilla, left him for some demon or other, and he kidnapped Xander and Willow…”_

Tara interrupted her reading to look at him, as did Willow, Xander, Dawn and even Buffy, all of their gazes somewhere between accusing and afraid.

“I…” he started, but it was impossible for him to find a good excuse, or any excuse for that matter, when he had just learned of his past misdeed himself. “At least I didn’t kill them!” he eventually pointed out, gesturing to where Xander and Willow sat. The two exchanged glances, and with a small shrug Tara started reading again.

 _“He kidnapped Xander and Willow to have the latter brew a love potion for him.”_

She stopped reading again, this time interrupted by Xander’s snicker. “A love potion? That’s so lame!”

A retort came to Spike’s lips – the Cliff notes had included a mention of Xander’s magical attempt at getting a girl’s love and the chaos it had created – but he swallowed the sarcasm. He had to play nice with Buffy’s friends and be the perfect little boyfriend. Even if Xander deserved to be smacked over the head.  
   
Buffy, however, had no qualms about doing the same. She gave Spike a pointed little nudge, but when he did nothing, she had no problem speaking her mind. “Pot,” she gestured to Xander, “kettle,” she turned back to Spike. “I know you two will get along. You have _so much_ in common.”

Xander winced. “All right, you got me,” he agreed, offering Spike an apologetic smile.

Spike was too busy leaning in to bury his nose in Buffy’s hair to do more than nod vaguely in the boy’s direction, however.

Buffy sighed contentedly, but inside Spike’s behavior was worrying her. She couldn’t tell whether she was just nervous and he seemed to be acting strangely because of that, or whether _he_ was nervous, too. It seemed even the threat that paradise some day might fall was causing it to fall already…

Perfectly in time with what Buffy considered to be a rather brilliant insight on her part, Anya’s loud screams of “Yes, yes, yes! Rupert! Orgasm with me!” came loudly from the storeroom.

Faux-innocent blinks were shared by all.

“She even says that word during _sex_ ,” Xander shook his head in disbelief.

“What? Orgasm?” Dawn asked innocently.

“Not you, too!” he protested.

She merely stuck her tongue out in response. But even she dropped her gloating when an obviously disheveled Anya emerged from the storeroom.

Everyone’s attention turned pointedly back to Tara, who’d returned to Rupert’s book with a cough.

One pair of eyes followed Anya, though. Watched her look out the window, bite her lip as the UPS truck stopped outside. Watched the anxiety on her features when she accepted the day’s packages…and watched her expression relax when the much-anticipated cure for their amnesia didn’t arrive.

It seemed they were all good at lying, at pretending everything was just fine. And, under that habit even without their memories, they were starting to break apart within.

It simply wouldn’t do to make the mistakes of past lives all over again.


	20. Chapter 20

Weekends, Anya concluded, were wonderful things.

Sunnydale’s small shopping district was filled with customers, just waiting to give her their money.

Their entire little group was out of school, giving Anya plenty of opportunities to stick them at the register while she pleasured herself on Rupert’s penis in the basement…the storeroom…the training room…the back alley…the back of his car…and, after store hours, on the research table.

But, most importantly of all, there were no UPS deliveries.

Anya smiled beatifically at the mailbox, enjoying their brief truce before tomorrow when the end to her happiness would inevitably arrive. Not that she didn’t believe Rupert. In fact, their discussion had heartened her more than she would’ve expected. But she was also quite convinced that he was viewing their situation in an overly logical manner. What they’d experience once they remembered everything once more would be the equivalent to emotional trauma, compounded by psychological whiplash.

Plus, she’d heard enough of Rupert’s diaries to realize that virtually every spell any of them had ever cast had been botched in some way. She wasn’t quite convinced Rupert wouldn’t accidentally wipe this entire time from their minds when he tried to restore their memories. And that was the thought that kept her most agitated.

As if trying to reinforce her gloomy thoughts, Tara was reading from that damned book again while she and Rupert manned the shop. Anya, of course, had the added advantage of being able to skim through it after the others went home, so she didn’t think she was missing much. But hearing the words “Willow messed up…” or “wrong combination of ingredients…” or “Xander accidentally cast…” every time she passed by was less than encouraging.

And, from the looks on some of the faces, she doubted she was the only one feeling that way, although none of them discussed it.

“Engaged?” Spike repeated in wide-eyed disbelief, as Willow gave him and Buffy an apologetic grimace.

“I’m sure I was…really sorry,” Willow offered lamely.

Spike reconsidered and grinned slightly to himself. “Engaged…” he repeated, sounding blissfully happy at the idea.

“Nuh-uh, Mister,” Buffy shook her head. “If you’re planning on popping the question again, this time there will be a _nice_ ring.” She paused for a beat. “And it will be _real_.”

“’Course, luv,” he practically cooed in her ear, his lips trailing along her collarbone. “Get you the biggest ring I can knick—er, _buy_ ,” he quickly amended at her look. “Maybe pick up a job. Could do that, y’know. Provide a bit, and…”

Buffy just rolled her eyes at Spike’s continuing antics. It was getting worse. It was like every word that came out of his mouth was part of some massive essay on why he was the best boyfriend in the history of ever. She was really going to have to corner him alone soon to talk about that.  
   
Tara shook her head lightly as she watched the others react to her reading of Willow’s wishing spree. She was still a little bemused by all the random accidents – spells turning wonky and whatnot – that the group had suffered over the years. Then again, seeing their latest predicament, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise to her that this kind of thing had happened before.

When everyone had fallen quiet again and was waiting for her, she picked up her reading, and was soon delighted to hear herself mentioned for the first time. It wasn’t much at all, at first, just a mention of her name as a new magically inclined friend Willow had made on campus. But she had been waiting for a long time to hear of herself, and she was pleased to see she had been in Willow’s life for some time now. And if she was to believe the way Willow’s hand brushed against her leg on the bench, she wasn’t the only one.

“Oh, Rupert!”

The shout, coming from the backroom, made her stumble over a word, and she could feel herself blushing at the sudden thought that she wouldn’t have minded putting Giles’ journal down for a while and get some quality time with Willow.

Judging by the way Spike nuzzled Buffy’s neck while she bit down on her bottom lip, the idea might have been contagious.  
   
“Do you think…” Tara began hesitantly, trying not to blush as Willow’s hand dropped down to her knee and began caressing her in small circles, “that maybe we should, y’know…take a break?”

“Yes, absolutely”" Willow jumped in almost before Tara had finished her sentence.

“’ll go along with whatever Buffy wants to do,” Spike purred against the Slayer in question.

Buffy’s brow furrowed slightly. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” she agreed thoughtfully. _And maybe I can use the opportunity to talk some sense into Spike…_

“G-Great!” Tara was up in an instant, with Willow right by her side.

“So, we’ll see you tonight, then?” Willow offered, as she and Tara practically fled the store, hand-in-hand.

“Good…bye?” Rupert said with surprise as he emerged from the back room to see them practically fly by.

“Spike and I going to use the training room,” Buffy announced, getting up as well. “You two _can_ actually pay attention to the customers for a few hours, right?” she teased.

Rupert coughed and blushed slightly. Really, he knew he was behaving rather like a love-struck teenager, but…well, he couldn’t help but be proud that he apparently still had the _stamina_ of a love-struck teenager. It must’ve been Anya’s doing.

“Rupert’s gotten quite efficient at giving me very satisfying ‘quickies’,” Anya assured Buffy happily. “Maybe he can teach Spike!”

Spike and Rupert shared a horrified look at pseudo-father/not-quite-son sex tutorials.

“Er…perhaps not,” Rupert amended hastily.

“Not like I need the help,” Spike grumbled under his breath as he and Buffy retreated into the training room.

Buffy just patted him on the shoulder, assuring him all too well that he didn’t need any help in the slightest.

***

“Mmm…” Tara murmured happily into Willow’s mouth as the two of them finally broke apart to lay sated, side-by-side on their bed.

“I never thought we’d get home fast enough,” Willow teased, cuddling her head against Tara’s breast.

Tara sighed in agreement and slowly stroked Willow’s hair.

The two of them just lay like that for a moment before Willow hesitantly spoke up.

“Can we talk about something, baby?”

Tara smiled at her softly. “About anything you want.”

Willow tried for a smile, but her expression turned worried instead.

“What’s wrong?” Tara frowned, her hand cupping Willow’s cheek affectionately.

Willow took a deep breath. “I’m scared,” she finally admitted softly.

“About the spell?”

The redhead nodded. “Well, that and that paper due next week…”

“Our notes are good enough that we could write that paper even without our memories coming back,” Tara assured her softly.

“Mostly the spell,” Willow conceded.

“Yeah,” Tara agreed. “It’s kind of intimidating. I mean, in a couple of days we could be entirely different people…”

“People who aren’t in love anymore.” Willow bit her lip.

Tara quickly wrapped an arm around her. “Rupert’s journal didn’t say that,” she insisted. “It just said that…well…”

“The magic thing is coming between us,” Willow finished for her.

“See?” Tara assured her. “We can work around that. We still love each other, with or without our memories.”

Willow considered that for a moment and then ventured hesitantly. “But…what if I don’t _want_ to be that person?”

Tara frowned.

“What if I don’t want to mess up our lives with magic anymore?” Willow clarified, gesticulating wildly to indicate everyone who’d fallen under this latest memory spell. “What if I don’t want to be the one who’s always causing the disasters? What if I just want to be…me?” The last word was said meekly, as if she was almost afraid of the idea.

“I like you when you’re just you.” Tara gave her a soft kiss. “And, if that’s the way you want things, then that’s the way they’ll be.”

“I wish I was that sure of myself…” Willow sighed.

“ _I’m_ that sure of you,” Tara said resolutely. “If I wasn’t…” She blushed.

“Mmm?” Willow wondered.

“I wouldn’t be so in love with you,” Tara finished shyly.

Willow grinned and leaned in for a soft kiss. “Me, neither…”

***

“Couch, mat, or pommel horse?” Spike asked with a grin when they were finally alone in the training room.

Buffy sighed and reluctantly pushed him away when he tried to kiss her.

“Buffy?” he asked, looking suddenly frightened.

She took a deep breath. She could do this. She wasn’t going to hurt him, so she didn’t need to worry. She just needed him to be _her Spike_ again. “We need to talk,” she said, trying very hard not to imagine just how much she’d rather try that pommel horse with him just now.

“Talk?” Spike repeated, gulping.

“Yes, talk.”

His eyes followed her as she went to sit on the sofa, and he frantically reviewed the events of the past few hours, trying to see what he had done wrong to deserve a ‘talk’. He was quite sure she had enjoyed her wake up call – at least, the way she had cried out his name while clamping her thighs over his face had persuaded him she had. Then he had served her breakfast in bed, and she had cleared the tray so she had to have enjoyed it. The shower had been nice too, with her second orgasm for the day and his first. Then they had come to the store, and he had been perfect, as far as he could tell. He had given her a little massage as they continued to listen to the story of their lives; he had kept his snarky comments to himself; he had even managed to discreetly announce his intention to find a job to help her and tested the waters as to an eventual engagement…

No, really, he didn’t see what he had done wrong. But judging by the stern look on her face, it had been something serious.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out as she opened her mouth, hoping that an admission of guilt on his part would soften her.

She frowned. “Sorry? About what?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? And how strange that he could vaguely remember a game show when the rest of his life was nothing more than words on the pages of his pseudo-father’s journal.

“About disappointing you?” he tried, coming to the sofa and sitting by her side. “I’ll try to do better, I promise. I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

Turning her body to look at him, she rolled her eyes. “Spike, as far as I remember, you _are_ the best boyfriend I ever had. You’re the _only_ boyfriend I ever had. So I don’t know who you’re trying to compete with by pretending you’re perfect, but it really needs to stop.”

She looked at him closely as she said what had been annoying her more and more since the day before, and she was sure she could see outrage in his eyes that she had dared call him on his act, and any second now he was going to shoot back and throw at her that delicious snark she had enjoyed in the first days of their memory-less relationship.

“I’m sorry,” he said with as much meekness as an angry tiger in his eyes. “I’ll try to do better.”

It took Buffy a few seconds to realize he was still stuck on perfect-boyfriend-mode, and when she did she practically jumped off the couch and growled in frustration.

“For crying out loud, Spike! I just asked you to stop the act!”

“I’m not acting,” he protested. “I just…”

“You’re just suppressing everything I love in you!”

At the hurt look on his face, she quickly amended: “Well, not everything. I love the massages. And the way you woke me up this morning was pretty nice, too. But you don’t have to always do everything for me, you know. I can get your breakfast ready too.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, deflated. “Warming blood’s pretty gross.”

Walking back to him, she stood between his legs and ran her fingers through his hair, making it stand in small spikes. “I don’t mind,” she assured him, calmer now. “It’s what you eat; I’m fine with it. I’m fine with you being who you are. And who you are isn’t a house-servant boyfriend who cooks, cleans and generally satisfies my needs before I am aware of them.”

Blue eyes looked straight at her, a little wary, but also a little hopeful. “And who am I, then?”

She smiled softly. “You’re a bad, rude man,” she informed him.

“Thanks so much for that,” he retorted sullenly.

“You’re sarcastic and snarky, and you’ve got a wicked, wicked tongue,” she continued, tracing the line of his jaw as she did so. “You like killing things on patrol, and you like toying with vampires before you stake them. You’re violent and wise-mouthed—”

“Just stop now,” he pleaded.

“—And _that’s_ why I love you,” she concluded triumphantly. “If I wanted some domesticated boy toy, why do you think I’d have picked the smart-assed vampire in the first place?”

“Convenience?” he suggested, still looking subdued but a bit more reassured now.

She snorted. “Yeah, right. Convenient boys don’t drink blood and burn up in the sunlight.” She moved in closer and leaned down to brush her lips across his forehead. “They also don’t challenge me every moment. They don’t make me feel like I’m wound up in every way imaginable – in every _wonderful_ way.” She sat down on his lap and grinned when she felt how excited her little speech was making him. “That,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “and I doubt they’re anywhere _near_ as good in bed.” She kissed him, then. Not softly and sweetly, but almost violently.

He froze for a moment beneath her before he returned her passion, tongue tangling, teeth biting. He caught her lower lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood, and they both gasped when he drank her down.

“See?” she pulled away, licking her lip almost dazedly. “This is why I want a vampire and not a teddy bear.”

“So you’re sayin’?” he prodded with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I’m saying that as long as you keep using that sarcastic, infuriating, sexy mouth of yours, I’ll keep remembering why I love you,” she promised.

“Think I can manage that.”

“Good.” She gave him a little nervous smile at the wolfish grin on his face and got up off of his lap. “Now, we should probably go check—”

Eyes almost black with arousal, he rose as well, circling her with predatory grace and taking her in from every angle with appreciation. “Got a better idea,” he sing-songed.

Her eyes widened as he came at her suddenly and tackled her back onto the couch. Instantly, his hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere, and she could barely find the resistance to protest.

“W-We can’t…”

“No?” His hand slipped up underneath her blouse.

“G-Giles and Anya are right out—oh, _god_!”

“Pay ‘em back for making _us_ listen,” he retorted.

“And this couch is kind of uncomfortable, and—”

“Fine.” In an instant, he’d lifted her carried her over to the mats, and thrown them both down upon them. “Now, if you don’t mind? ’d like you remind you about that smart mouth of mine.”

And, really, Buffy couldn’t think of any more reasons to object. Not when his mouth was doing _that_. “Mmm-kay,” she agreed in bliss.

***

The mood that night at Casa de Summers was still tense, but more hopeful than the previous few. Xander watched the others amidst slurping down the pizza. One good thing about losing his memories: He got to enjoy sausage and double pepperoni for the first time all over again. Because, unless he’d been a complete idiot before, he had to have tasted this exquisite cheesy goodness.

Willow and Tara sat at the table across from him, giggling amongst themselves and looking significantly less moody than they had even that morning. Spike and Buffy were at the end of the table, practically in each other’s laps, while Spike and Dawn snarked. Buffy’s hand was stroking Spike’s hair rhythmically, almost like she was petting him.

Xander had made a comment earlier about puppy-dog vamps. He’d got a retort that included a challenge to his masculinity along with some thoroughly bizarre British slang that he was still trying to decipher. His options had been either to get a Whatever-the-Hell-Spike-Thought-He-Spoke to English dictionary, or to back off. Given that Buffy had promptly shoved her tongue down Spike’s throat, the latter had just been easier all around.

Rupert and Anya had retired to the living room, for reasons of lack of space, and Xander could hear them talking somewhat seriously. Which he took as his cue that he could go join them without walking in on the 2001 Sexcapades.

Indeed, as he entered the living room, Rupert and Anya weren’t even touching each other for once, but sitting opposite each other and talking over their pizza.

“Hey,” he said, sitting next to Rupert.

Rupert nodded in response. “Xander.”

“What’s up?”

Anya sighed. “We were just talking about how this is our last night together.”

Xander looked at her askance. “How…er, morbid of you.”

Rupert smiled. “But, in a way, accurate. The spell ingredients should most certainly arrive in the morning which means that, for all intents and purposes, we will not be the same people we are now come tomorrow evening.”

Xander glanced back at the kitchen at the sound of laughter. “Do you think it will really change things that much?”

Anya’s fingers brushed Rupert’s hand. “That all depends on us,” she said more assuredly than she looked.

Xander just smiled at her in agreement. “Yes,” he agreed, “it does…”


	21. Chapter 21

Feather duster in hand, Anya was going through the motions and giving all appearances of cleaning the shelves, when in truth her attention was completely focused on the front door. Or maybe not completely; the delicious twinges of soreness between her thighs were distracting her a little every time she moved, bringing her back to the events of the night before. Rupert had seemed determined to make her forget her worries and doubts and had thoroughly proved to her the strength of his love – as well as the extent of his stamina. If she hadn’t known any better, she might have believed he was worried, too. But no, it couldn’t have been that. He was the one who had been repeating that nothing would change between them once they had their memories back. He wouldn’t have said so if he hadn’t been sure. Or at least, she hoped he wouldn’t have.

The bell above the door chimed and Anya tensed – before immediately relaxing. It was only a potential customer. Normally, the prospect of selling something to the obviously well to-do woman would have prompted Anya into action, but she barely spared the woman a second glance as she stepped further into the store and toward the counter where Rupert stood. Anya heard her inquire about scented candles but she wasn’t paying attention, her hand back to her pretend-dusting and her eyes on the door.

A shadow obscured the window, easily recognizable as a delivery truck, and Anya’s fingers tightened on the handle of the duster. Maybe it was a delivery for the store next door. It didn’t have to be for them. Maybe…

The doorbell chimed again, and Anya glared at the deliveryman who stepped in, a package under one arm and a clipboard in his other hand.

“Anya?” Rupert’s voice rose from the other end of the store. “Could you sign for the package, dear?”

Grinding her teeth, she advanced toward the deliveryman, and he almost took a step back when he noticed she was glaring at him. She didn’t listen to what he was saying, some stupid comment about the weather, and only accepted the package he was handing her with an extreme reluctance. Her glare shifted from the man to the innocent looking box. Couldn’t it have gotten lost? Or fallen from the truck? Did it really have to be delivered on time?

Still scowling, she went to the counter and plopped the box there. Rupert was still busy with his customer. Maybe she could open it without waiting for him. Maybe something would be missing. And if nothing was missing, she could make sure one of the ingredients disappeared. It would give them a few more days while Rupert ordered again. A few more days; it wasn’t much, but at that instant, it felt like a priceless treasure.

She took a deep breath, held it, and ripped into the package with the shop's box cutter. Even with her not-so-subtle desire to never see these ingredients, she couldn't bring herself to 'accidentally' damage the goods that had been bought with hard-earned money.

Packing peanuts were clearly the spawn of Satan, and she brushed them aside and counted their newest stock.

Amazonian toad tongues... Check.

Clay Dravanian vessel... Check.

Syrup of banana slug... Check.

Left testicle from a transvestite Glarga Demon in heat... Check and mate.

With a sigh, she propped her head up on one elbow and looked gloomily down at the box' contents.

Rupert approached the counter, smiling at their customer, and rung up her order. Even the sound of the cash register door dinging couldn't cheer Anya up, and Rupert turned to her when their customer had gone.

"Is everything there?" he asked, concerned.

She managed a wan smile. "Everything," she assured him.

With a sigh, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "It will be all right."

"I know..."

***

The door to the Magic Box jingled a final time as Xander entered with a sheepish shrug. Around the store, the rest of their little amnesia group sat, bringing to his mind vividly the recollection of when they'd all first woken up in this very room to find that they couldn't remember a thing. They certainly had all come a long way since then...

Seated next to each other at the table, the woman Xander had thought was his girlfriend was leaning affectionately against the girl who had turned out to be _her_ girlfriend. He had learned to appreciate Willow in the past few days, and it had been clear from Rupert’s journal that they had been good friends before they had lost their memories, and so he could only be happy that she had found someone who loved her and whom she loved. Although it would have been much better if they hadn’t both seemed so nervous.

Across from Willow and Tara, the woman who had turned out to be Xander’s true girlfriend, and fiancée, was snuggled against another man. No regret there either. Anya was a fine woman, and he could see, he thought, why he could have proposed to her in other circumstances, but as things stood he was quite content in seeing her blunt comments directed toward Rupert rather than him. And if his own bed and nights had been a bit lonely, he wouldn’t have exchanged that for Anya’s apparent insatiability. He was still wondering how Rupert hadn’t succumbed to a heart attack yet…

Seated between the two couples, Dawn sat by herself with her back to him, and he noticed as he approached that she was scribbling furiously in what looked like a diary, her free arm curled protectively over the pages. He could understand the need to make a few last notes before everything changed again.

The last couple of their happy little troop was probably the one who had known the most changes during the past two days. Both Buffy and Spike had discovered that they weren’t quite normal, although to different degrees. They had flirted, they had fought, they had reconciled, and now they were holding on to each other as though afraid the memory spell would physically separate them. Buffy was seated at the top of the mezzanine ladder, her feet resting on the next to last rung; Spike was directly behind her, his legs on each side of her and his arms wrapped protectively around her. She had laced her fingers with his, and his chin was resting on her shoulder. They were rather cute, Xander decided. But they, too, had a worried air about them that clearly said how anxious they were about the spell.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Xander said as he approached the table, “I’d think we’re preparing for a funeral. Cheer up, people. You’re about to get your memories back, not be executed.”

From the mezzanine, Spike’s voice descended in what sounded suspiciously like, “Or so I hope”. Buffy threw him a frown over her shoulder.

“I thought we had cleared up that nothing is going to change,” she said in a slightly irritated tone.

Spike opened his mouth to answer, but Anya was faster. “Of course things are going to change. Look how much changed when we lost our memories. It makes sense that they’ll change just as much when we get them back.”

All at once, conversations started amongst the three couples, worries being voiced and answered, clearly not for the first time. Xander watched them all in turn, shaking his head and sharing a disbelieving look with Dawn.

“Hey! People!” he shouted after a few seconds to get their attention. “If you’re all so scared about getting your memories back, why are we doing this?”

The chattering died instantly, and in the dead quiet that followed Xander felt a little self-conscious under the blank looks that settled on him.

Rupert was the first to break the silence. “Because we have to,” he said calmly, the confidence of his reasonable tone all but shattered by the way he cleaned his glasses furiously.

The explanation left Xander nonplussed. “Again, why?”

“We can’t keep living like this,” Rupert argued, now heating up. “We have no memories, we don’t remember who we are or what our lives are like and… and…”

“And we’ve been living without knowing these things for how long now?” Dawn cut in. “We’ve been dealing pretty well, all things considered.”

Seemingly flustered, Rupert looked around the room for support. Next to him, Anya was barely suppressing a grin, clearly delighted by the turn the conversation had taken. Dawn had made her position clear. Tara, her head leaning against Willow’s shoulder had an air of acceptance about her that was difficult to interpret one way or the other. Willow was frowning slightly and her gaze remained glued to the table. Up the mezzanine, Buffy and Spike were locked into a silent, eyes-only discussion. The sight of the Slayer, however, appeared to give his fire back to Rupert.

“The Slayer!” he exclaimed, and the girl in question and her fanged boyfriend both startled and looked down at him. “Something really bad could happen! New demons, or… or another hell god. Or another apocalypse! And what would we do, then?”

“We’d open these books,” Anya said matter-of-factly, gesturing toward the shelves. “And we’d figure things out, like we figured out what happened to us and how to reverse it.”

“But it would be easier if we just _knew_ ,” Rupert insisted with a sigh. “Don’t you see it?”

“What I see is that there is much scaredness going on, and not so much of the rejoicing,” Xander shrugged.

“Let’s vote!” Dawn piped in excitedly. “Secret ballots so we can really say what we think!” When no one objected, save for some mutterings from Rupert that seemed entirely perfunctory, she carefully tore a sheet of paper from her diary and into eight smaller pieces. Meanwhile, Anya went to the counter and returned with an assortment of pens and pencils that were distributed along with the papers. A candy dish was set on the table to receive the ballots.

“The question is, do you want to get your memories back,” Dawn announced even as she started scribbling. “Yes or no.”

It only took seconds, and the eight of them were now standing around the table, watching the innocuous pieces of folded paper that held their future – and their past.

“I’ll do it,” Tara said softly when no one else had reached for the votes. One by one, she retrieved the papers, unfolded them and laid them on the table, reading them aloud.

“No. No. No. No. No. No. No. And… no.”

She raised a surprised eyebrow toward Rupert, as they all did, and he flushed slightly beneath the attention.

“I never said I wanted my memories back,” he explained uneasily. “Just that I think it would have been the right thing to do.”

“Would have been?” Willow repeated. “As in, we’re definitely not doing the spell, then?”

“The vote seemed unanimous,” Rupert conceded.

“And we can send the ingredients back and get a refund,” Anya beamed. “Things so rare, we’ll never sell them before the expiration date.”

And just like that, it was settled. Dawn returned to writing in her diary. Tara and Willow quietly murmured to each other. Buffy and Spike were lip locked once more. Rupert was gazing fondly upon Anya as she prepared the return package.

Xander shook his head in disbelief, attracting Rupert’s attention.

“It’s kinda… weird,” he explained with a shrug. “Almost too easy.”

“Anticlimactic,” Rupert agreed. “Though I am rather curious. You’re the one who lost the most in this adventure. The rest of us, save for Dawn, found or retained a significant other, while you lost a fiancée. I’d have thought you’d be the one fighting to get your memories and your life back.”

Xander shrugged once more; he seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “I wasn’t exactly looking forward to my reaction when getting my feelings for Anya back after having heard the two of you reinvent the Kama Sutra.”

He was about to add that he might have ended up with performance anxiety too, after hearing Anya praise in such details Rupert’s feats, but already Rupert was walking away, lured by Anya’s request that he come help her with something in the storage room. Shaking his head, Xander smiled. Things were undoubtedly just fine as they were; why mess them up now?


	22. Epilogue

“Spike! You are _so_ dead for this!”

“Sorry to remind you, luv, but I’m already dead. Can’t get deader than I already am.”

“Say that again when you’re dust flying in the wind.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“Put the stake down, Slayer. You’re going to hurt someone with that thing.”

“You think?”

“Not funny, luv.”

“You mean, not funny like you calling Angel to tell him you live with me and he’s a loser with bad hair?”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“You’ve never even seen him! I mean… you know what I mean! How would you know what his hair looks like?”

“Dawn’s diary said it looks stupid. Said he was a jealous wanker, too. Maybe not in these exact terms, but…”

“So that’s your excuse? You hear that my ex is the jealous type so you decide to rile him up?”

“You forgot the wanker part, luv.”

“How did you even get his number?”

“Wasn’t that hard to find…”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get rid of him without him realizing it was the first time I had ever talked to him? Or at least, it felt like the first time. What if he had figured things out? What if he had found a way to break the spell and… and…”

“Luv?”

“What?”

“You really think it’d matter, now? It’s been almost a year. You really think you could not love me anymore if we got our memories back tomorrow?”

“I don’t…”

“The truth, now.”

“I love you.”

Clem just shook his head and accepted his bag of fresh hornag livers from Anya, as Buffy and Spike’s screams from the training room deteriorated into…well, screams of _another_ sort. “Those crazy kids,” he offered in parting, getting an eye-roll in response that let him know just how often chaos of this sort ensued.

With a wave of his flappy paw, he descended the stairs and out through the back basement door. Anya had wisely pointed out to Rupert some time ago and they could double their business by opening the underground entrance to upstanding members of the demon community. Clem secretly suspected that Anya was tempted to sell to _non_ -upstanding members of the demon community as well, but Rupert’s vigilant eye kept her in check.

Humming merrily to himself, he entered the pleasantly dank corridor, breathing in the fresh scent of mildew and decay in the evening. It was funny, really, how a little thing like a memory lapse mattered both so much and so little. Clem even wondered sometimes, if he hadn’t been privy to Spike’s initial confused outbursts and had been kept out of the loop like Angel had, whether he would even have noticed the difference.

A crash sounded from with the Magic Box, followed by a moan, and then Anya’s screaming. Nope, he probably wouldn’t have noticed anything was different at all…

He double-checked his bag – never trust an ex-vengeance demon not to short-change you – before making his way home. But, with the first step, his flipper kicked something.

With a frown, he bent down and picked up a small black crystal. He scratched his head absentmindedly and held it up to the light, watching it glisten like some great secret was buried deep within.

“Ooh, shiny…”

And then, with a shrug, he pocketed the tiny treasure and headed on home. After all, the Quantum Leap marathon awaited.


End file.
